LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

Mr.    H.    H.    KM  iani 


LIBKAKY 


H.    DE    BALZAC 


THE   COMEDIE    HUMAINE 


"ISN'T    IT    A    LOVE   OF   A    PRESS?   ' 


H.    DE     BALZAC 


LOST  ILLUSIONS 


(ILLUSIONS  PERDUES) 

AND  GAUDISSART  II 


TRANSLATED    BY 


ELLEN    MARRIAGE 


WITH  A  PREFACE  BY 


GEORGE    SAINTSBURY 


PHILADELPHIA 

THE  GEBBIE  PUBLISHING  Co.,  Ltd. 


CONTENTS 


PREFACE  « 

LOST  ILLUSIONS— 

PART   I.      TWO   POETS ...I 

PART  II.      EVE  AND  DAVID «62 

GAUDISSART  II. 378 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"ISN'T  IT  A  LOVE  OF  A  PRESS?"     (p.  Il)  .         .         Frontispiece 

PACE 
SHE  SANK    FAINTING  UPON   THE  SOFA 156 

HE     LOOKED AT     A     BEAUTIFUL     WOMAN    WEEPING     OVER     A 

CRADLE,   AT   DAVID   BOWED   DOWN   BY  ANXIETIES  .  .      228 

"OH,   INDEED,   ARE   YOU   TURNING   THIEF  IN   YOUR   OLD  AGE?"    .      249 

"  I   NEED    A    SECRETARY,    FOR    MINE   HAS    JUST    DIED    AT    BARCE- 
LONA"  328 

Drawn  by  W.  Boucher. 


PREFACE. 

THE  longest,  without  exception,  of  Balzac's  books,  and  one 
which  contains  hardly  any  passage  that  is  not  very  nearly  of 
his  best,  "  Illusions  Perdues,"  suffers,  I  think,  a  little  in  point 
of  composition  from  the  mixture  of  the  Angoulgme  scenes  of 
its  first  and  third  parts  with  the  purely  Parisian  interest  of 
"  Un  Grand  Homme  de  Province."  It  is  hardly  possible  to 
exaggerate  the  gain  in  distinctness  and  lucidity  of  arrange- 
ment derived  from  putting  "Les  Deux  Poetes"  and  "Eve  et 
David"  (a  much  better  title  than  that  which  has  been  pre- 
ferred in  the  "Edition  Definitive  ")  together  in  one  volume, 
and  reserving  the  greatness  and  decadence  of  Lucien  de  Ru- 
bempre  for  another.  It  is  distinctly  awkward  that  this  should 
be  divided,  as  it  is  itself  an  enormous  episode,  a  sort  of  Hero- 
dotean  parenthesis,  rather  than  an  integral  part  or"  the  story. 
And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  joins  on  much  more  to  the  "Splen- 
deurs  et  Miseres  des  Courtesanes"  than  to  its  actual  com- 
panions. In  fact,  it  is  an  instance  of  the  somewhat  hap- 
hazard and  arbitrary  way  in  which  the  actual  division  of  the 
"Comedie"  has  worked,  that  it  should,  dealing  as  it  does 
wholly  and  solely  with  Parisian  life,  be  put  in  the  "  Scenes  de 
la  Vie  de  Province, ' '  and  should  be  separated  from  its  natural 
conclusion  not  merely  as  a  matter  of  volumes,  but  as  a  matter 
of  divisions.  In  making  the  arrangement,  however,  it  is 
necessary  to  remember  Balzac's  own  scheme,  especially  as  the 
connection  of  the  three  parts  in  other  ways  is  too  close  to  per- 
mit the  wrenching  of  them  asunder  altogether  and  finally. 
This  caution  given,  all  that  is  necessary  can  be  done  by  de- 
voting the  introduction  of  this  volume  entirely  to  the  first  and 
third  or  AngoulSme  parts,  and  by  consecrating  another  preface 


x  PREFACE. 

at  the  beginning  of  the  other  volume  to  the  egregious  Lucien 
by  himself. 

There  is  a  double  gain  in  doing  this,  for,  independently  of 
the  connection  as  above  referred  to,  Lucien  has  little  to  do 
except  as  an  opportunity  for  the  display  of  virtue  by  his  sister 
and  David  Sechard ;  and  the  parts  in  which  they  appear  are 
among  the  most  interesting  of  Balzac's  work.  The  "  idyllic" 
charm  of  this  marriage  for  love,  combined  as  it  is  with  exhibi- 
tions of  the  author's  power  in  more  than  one  of  the  ways  in 
which  he  loved  best  to  show  it,  has  never  escaped  attention 
from  Balzac's  most  competent  critics.  He  himself  had  specu- 
lated in  print  and  paper  before  David  Sechard  was  conceived ; 
he  himself  had  for  all  "maniacs,"  all  men  of  one  idea,  the 
fraternal  enthusiasm  of  a  fellow-victim.  He  could  never  touch 
a  miser  without  a  sort  of  shudder  of  interest ;  and  that  singular 
fancy  of  his  for  describing  complicated  legal  and  commercial 
undertakings  came  in  too.  Nor  did  he  spare,  in  this  wide- 
ranging  book,  to  bring  in  other  favorite  matters  of  his,  the 
hobereau — or  squireen — aristocracy,  the  tittle-tattle  of  the 
country  town,  and  so  forth. 

The  result  is  a  book  of  multifarious  interest,  not  hampered, 
as  some  of  its  fellows  are,  by  an  uncertainty  on  the  author's 
part  as  to  what  particular  hare  he  is  coursing.  Part  of  the 
interest,  after  the  description  of  the  printing-office  and  of 
old  Sechard's  swindling  of  his  son,  is  a  doubling,  it  is  true, 
upon  that  of  "La  Muse  du  Departement,"  and  is  perhaps 
a  little  less  amusingly  done ;  but  it  is  blended  with  better 
matters.  Sixte  du  Ch&telet  is  a  considerable  addition  to 
Balzac's  gallery  of  the  aristocracy  in  transition  —  of  the 
Bonapartist  parvenus,  whom  perhaps  he*  understood  even 
better  than  the  old  nobility,  for  they  were  already  in  his 
time  becoming  adulterated  and  alloyed;  or  than  the  new 
folk  of  business  and  finance,  for  they  were  but  in  their 
earliest  stages.  Nor  is  the  rest  of  the  society  of  Madame  de 
Bargeton  inferior. 


PREFACE.  xi 

But  the  real  interest  both  of  "  Les  Deux  Poetes,"  and  still 
more  of  "Eve  et  David,"  between  which  two,  be  it  always 
remembered,  comes  in  the  original  the  "Distinguished  Pro- 
vincial," lies  in  the  characters  who  gave  their  name  to  the 
last  part.  In  David,  the  man  of  one  idea,  who  yet  has  room 
for  an  honest  love  and  an  all-undeserved  friendship,  Balzac 
could  not  go  wrong.  David  Sechard  takes  a  place  by  him- 
self among  the  sheep  of  the  "  Comedie."  Some  may  indeed 
say  that  this  phrase  is  unfortunate,  that  Balzac's  sheep  have 
more  qualities  of  the  mutton  than  innocence.  It  is  not  quite 
to  be  denied.  But  David  is  very  far  indeed  from  being  a 
good  imbecile,  like  Cesar  Birotteau,  or  a  man  intoxicated 
out  of  commonsense  by  a  passion  respectable  in  itself,  like 
Goriot.  His  sacrifice  of  his  mania  in  time  is  something — 
nay,  it  is  very  much;  and  his  disinterested  devotion  to  his 
brother-in-law  does  not  quite  pass  the  limits  of  sense. 

But  what  shall  we  say  of  Eve?  She  is  good,  of  couise, 
good  as  gold,  as  Eugenie  Grandet  herself;  and  the  novelist 
has  been  kind  enough  to  allow  her  to  be  happier.  But  has 
he  quite  interested  us  in  her  love  for  David  ?  Has  he  even 
persuaded  us  that  the  love  existed  in  a  form  deserving  the 
name?  Did  not  Eve  rather  take  her  husband  to  protect 
him,  to  look  after  him,  than  either  to  love,  honor  and  obey 
in  the  orthodox  sense,  or  to  love  for  love's  sake  only,  as  some 
still  take  their  husbands  and  wives  even  at  the  end  of  the 
nineteenth  century?  This  is  a  question  which  each  reader 
must  answer  for  himself;  but  few  are  likely  to  refuse  assent 
to  the  sentence,  "Happy  the  husband  who  has  such  a  wife 
as  Eve  Chardon  !" 

The  bibliography  of  this  long  and  curious  book — almost 
the  only  one  which  contains  verse,  some  of  Balzac's  own, 
some  given  to  him  by  his  more  poetical  friends — occupies 
full  ten  pages  of  M.  de  Lovenjoul's  record.  The  first  part, 
which  bore  the  general  title,  was  a  book  from  the  beginning, 
and  appeared  in  1837  in  the  "Scenes  de  la  Vie  de  Province." 


,ii  PREFACE. 

It  had  five  chapters,  and  the  original  verse  it  contained  had 
appeared  in  the  "Annales  Romantiques "  ten  years  earlier 
with  slight  variants.  The  second  part,  "  Un  Grand  Homme 
de  Province,"  likewise  appeared  as  a  book,  independently 
published  by  Souverain  in  1839  in  two  volumes  and  forty 
chapters.  But  two  of  these  chapters  had  been  inserted  a  few 
days  before  the  publication  in  the  "  Estafette."  Here  Canalis 
was  more  distinctively  identified  with  Lamartine  than  in  the 
subsequent  texts.  The  third  part,  unlike  its  forerunners,  ap- 
peared serially  in  two  papers,  "  L'Etat  "  and  "  Le  Parisien," 
in  the  year  1843,  under  the  title  of  "  David  Sechard,  ou  les 
Souffrances  d'un  Inventeur,"  and  next  year  became  a  book 
under  the  first  title  only:  But  before  this  last  issue  it  had 
been  united  to  the  other  two  parts,  and  had  appeared  as 
"Eve  et  David"  in  the  first  edition  of  the  "  Comedie." 

"Gaudissart  II."  is  very  slight,  and  the  "Anglaise"  is 
not  much  more  like  a  human  being  than  most  "Anglaises" 
in  French  novels  till  quite  recently.  But  the  anecdote  is 
amusing  enough,  and  it  is  well  and  smartly  told. 

G.  S. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

To  Monsieur  Victor  Hugo. 

It  was  your  birthright  to  be,  like  a  Rafael  or  a 
Pitt,  a  great  poet  at  an  age  when  other  men  are  chil- 
dren ;  it  was  your  fate,  the  fate  of  Chateaubriand 
and  of  every  man  of  genius,  to  struggle  against  jeal- 
ousy skulking  behind  the  columns  of  a  newspaper  or 
crouching  in  the  subterranean  places  of  journalism, 
for  this  reason  I  desired  that  your  victorious  name 
should  help  to  win  a  victory  for  this  work  that  I  in- 
scribe to  you,  a  work  which,  if  some  persons  are  to  be 
believed,  is  an  act  of  courage  as  well  as  a  veracious 
history.  If  there  had  been  journalists  in  the  time  of 
Moliere,  who  can  doubt  but  that  they,  like  marquises, 
financiers,  doctors,  and  lawyers,  would  have  been 
within  the  province  of  the  writer  of  plays  ?  And 
why  should  Comedy,  qui  castigat  ridendo  mores, 
make  an  exception  in  favor  of  one  power,  when  the 
Parisian  press  spares  none  ?  I  am  happy,  monsieur, 
in  this  opportunity  of  subscribing  myself  your  sincere 
admirer  and  friend, 

DE  BALZAC. 

PART  I. 

TWO   POETS. 

AT  the  time  when  this  story  opens,  the  Stanhope  press  and 
the  ink-distributing  roller  were  not  as  yet  in  general  use  in 
small  provincial  printing  establishments.  Even  at  Angou- 

(1) 


LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

,  so  closely  connected  through  its  paper-mills  with  the  art 
of  typography  in  Paris,  the  only  machinery  in  use  was  the 
primitive  wooden  invention  to  which  the  language  owes  a 
figure  of  speech—"  the  press  groans  "  was  no  mere  rhetorical 
expression  in  those  days.  Leather  ink-balls  were  still  used 
in  old-fashioned  printing-houses;  the  pressmen  dabbed  the 
ink  by  hand  on  the  characters,  and  the  movable  table  on 
which  the  form  of  type  was  placed  in  readiness  for  the  sheet 
of  paper,  being  made  of  marble,  literally  deserved  its  name 
of  "impression-stone."  Modern  machinery  has  swept  all 
this  old-world  mechanism  into  oblivion ;  the  wooden  press, 
which,  with  all  its  imperfections,  turned  out  such  beautiful 
work  for  the  Elzevirs,  Plantin,  Aldus,  and  Didot,  is  so  com- 
pletely forgotten,  that  something  must  be  said  as  to  the  obso- 
lete gear  on  which  Jerome-Nicolas  Sechard  set  an  almost 
superstitious  affection,  for  it  plays  a  part  in  this  chronicle  of 
great  small  things. 

Sechard  had  been  in  his  time  a  journeyman  pressman,  a 
"  bear  "  in  compositors'  slang.  The  continued  pacing  to  and 
fro  of  the  pressman  from  ink-table  to  press,  from  press  to  ink- 
table,  no  doubt  suggested  the  nickname.  The  "  bears,"  how- 
ever, make  matters  even  by  calling  the  compositors  monkeys, 
on  account  of  the  nimble  industry  displayed  by  those  gentle- 
men in  picking  out  the  type  from  the  hundred  and  fifty-two 
compartments  of  the  cases. 

In  the  disastrous  year  1 793,  Sechard,  being  fifty  years  old 
and  a  married  man,  escaped  the  great  requisition  which 
swept  the  bulk  of  French  workmen  into  the  army.  The  old 
pressman  was  the  only  hand  left  in  the  printing-house ;  and 
when  the  master  (otherwise  the  "boss")  died,  leaving  a 
widow,  but  no  children,  the  business  seemed  to  be  on  the 
verge  of  extinction  ;  for  the  solitary  "  bear  "  was  quite  inca- 
pable of  the  feat  of  transformation  into  a  "  monkey,"  and  in 
his  quality  of  pressman  had  never  learned  to  read  or  write. 
Just  then,  however,  a  representative  of  the  people  being  in  a 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  3 

mighty  hurry  to  publish  the  Decrees  of  the  Convention,  be- 
stowed a  master  printer's  license  on  Sechard,  and  requisitioned 
the  establishment.  Citizen  Sechard  accepted  the  dangerous 
patent,  bought  the  business  of  his  master's  widow  with  his 
wife's  savings,  and  took  over  the  plant  at  half  its  value.  But 
he  was  not  even  at  the  beginning.  He  was  bound  to  print 
the  Decrees  of  the  Republic  without  mistakes  and  without 
delay. 

In  this  strait  Jerome-Nicolas  Sechard  had  the  luck  to  dis- 
cover a  noble  Marseillais  who  had  no  mind  to  emigrate  and 
lose  his  lands,  nor  yet  to  show  himself  openly  and  lose  his 
head,  and  consequently  was  fain  to  earn  a  living  by  some 
lawful  industry.  A  bargain  was  struck.  M.  le  Comte  de 
Maucombe,  disguised  in  a  provincial  printer's  jacket,  set  up, 
read,  and  corrected  the  decrees  which  forbade  citizens  to 
harbor  aristocrats  under  pain  of  death ;  while  the  "bear," 
now  a  "boss,"  printed  the  copies  and  duly  posted  them,  and 
the  pair  remained  safe  and  sound. 

In  1795,  wnen  the  squall  of  the  terror  had  passed  over, 
Nicolas  Sechard  was  obliged  to  look  out  for  another  jack-of- 
all-trades  to  be  compositor,  reader,  and  foreman  in  one ;  and 
an  abbe  who  declined  the  oath  succeeded  the  Comte  de  Mau- 
combe as  soon  as  the  First  Consul  restored  public  worship. 
The  abb6  became  a  bishop  at  the  restoration,  and  in  after-days 
the  Count  and  the  abb6  met  and  sat  together  on  the  same 
bench  of  the  House  of  Peers. 

In  1795  Jerome-Nicolas  had  not  known  how  to  read  or 
write;  in  1802  he  had  made  no  progress  in  either  art ;  but  by 
allowing  a  handsome  margin  for  "wear  and  tear"  in  his 
estimates,  he  managed  to  pay  a  foreman's  wages.  The  once 
easy-going  journeyman  was  a  terror  to  his  "bears"  and 
"monkeys."  Where  poverty  ceases,  avarice  begins.  From 
the  day  when  Sechard  first  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  possibility 
of  making  a  fortune,  a  growing  covetousness  developed  and 
sharpened  in  him  a  certain  practical  faculty  for  business — 


4  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

greedy,  suspicious,  and  keen-eyed.  He  carried  on  his  craft 
in  disdain  of  theory.  In  course  of  time  he  had  learned  to 
estimate  at  a  glance  the  cost  of  printing  per  page  or  per  sheet 
in  every  kind  of  type.  He  proved  to  unlettered  customers 
that  large  type  cost  more  to  move;  or,  if  small  type  was 
under  discussion,  that  it  was  more  difficult  to  handle.  The 
setting  up  of  the  type  was  the  one  part  of  his  craft  of  which 
he  knew  nothing;  and  so  great  was  his  terror  lest  he  should 
not  charge  enough,  that  he  always  made  a  heavy  profit.  He 
never  took  his  eyes  off  his  compositors  while  they  were  paid 
by  the  hour.  If  he  knew  that  a  paper  manufacturer  was  in 
difficulties,  he  would  buy  up  his  stock  at  a  cheap  rate  and 
warehouse  the  paper.  So  from  this  time  forward  he  was  his 
own  landlord,  and  owned  the  old  house  which  had  been  a 
printing-office  from  time  immemorial. 

He  had  every  sort  of  luck.  He  was  left  a  widower  with 
but  one  son.  The  boy  he  sent  to  the  high  school ;  he  must 
be  educated,  not  so  much  for  his  own  sake  as  to  train  a  suc- 
cessor to  the  business ;  and  Sechard  treated  the  lad  harshly 
so  as  to  prolong  the  time  of  parental  rule,  making  him  work 
at  case  on  holidays,  telling  him  that  he  must  learn  to  earn  his 
own  living,  so  as  to  recompense  his  poor  old  father,  who  was 
slaving  his  life  out  to  give  him  an  education. 

Then  the  abbe  went,  and  S6chard  promoted  one  of  his  four 
compositors  to  be  foreman,  making  his  choice  on  the  future 
bishop's  recommendation  of  the  man  as  an  honest  and  intelli- 
gent workman.  In  these  ways  the  worthy  printer  thought  to 
tide  over  the  time  until  his  son  could  take  a  business  which 
was  sure  to  extend  in  young  and  clever  hands. 

David  Sechard's  school  career  was  a  brilliant  one.  Old 
Sechard,  as  a  "bear"  who  had  succeeded  in  life  without  any 
education,  entertained  a  very  considerable  contempt  for  attain- 
ments in  book-learning;  and  when  he  sent  his  son  to  Paris  to 
study  the  higher  branches  of  typography,  he  recommended 
the  lad  so  earnestly  to  save  a  good  round  sum  in  the  "  work- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  5 

ingman's  paradise"  (as  he  was  pleased  to  call  the  city),  and 
so  distinctly  gave  the  boy  to  understand  that  he  was  not  to 
draw  upon  the  paternal  purse,  that  it  seemed  as  if  old  Sechard 
saw  some  way  of  gaining  private  ends  of  his  own  by  that 
sojourn  in  the  land  of  sapience.  So  David  learned  his  trade 
and  completed  his  education  at  the  same  time,  and  Didot's 
foreman  became  a  scholar ;  and  yet  when  he  left  Paris  at  the 
end  of  1819,  summoned  home  by  his  father  to  take  the  helm 
of  business,  he  had  not  cost  his  parent  a  farthing. 

Now  Nicolas  Sechard's  establishment  hitherto  had  enjoyed 
a  monopoly  of  all  the  official  printing  in  the  department,  be- 
side the  work  for  the  prefecture  and  the  diocese — three  con- 
nections which  should  prove  highly  profitable  to  an  active 
young  printer ;  but  precisely  at  this  juncture  the  firm  of 
Cointet  Brothers,  paper  manufacturers,  applied  to  the  authori- 
ties for  the  second  printer's  license  in  Angoul&me.  Hitherto 
old  Sechard  had  contrived  to  reduce  this  license  to  a  dead 
letter,  thanks  to  the  war  crises  of  the  Empire,  and  consequent 
atrophy  of  commercial  enterprise  ;  but  he  had  neglected  to 
buy  up  the  right  himself,  and  this  piece  of  parsimony  was  the 
ruin  of  the  old  business.  Sechard  thought  joyfully  when  he 
heard  the  news  that  the  coming  struggle  with  the  Cointets 
would  be  fought  out  by  his  son  and  not  by  himself. 

"I  should  have  gone  to  the  wall,"  he  thought,  "but  a 
young  fellow  from  the  Didots  will  pull  through." 

The  septuagenarian  sighed  for  the  time  when  he  could  live 
at  ease  in  his  own  fashion.  If  his  knowledge  of  the  higher 
branches  of  the  craft  of  printing  was  scanty,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  was  supposed  to  be  pastmaster  of  an  art  which  work- 
men pleasantly  call  "  tipple-ography,"  an  art  held  in  high 
esteem  by  the  divine  author  of  "  Pantagruel ;  "  though  of  late, 
by  reason  of  the  persecution  of  societies  yclept  temperance, 
the  cult  has  fallen,  day  by  day,  into  disuse. 

Jerome-Nicolas  Sechard,  bound  by  the  laws  of  etymology 
to  be  a  dry  subject,  suffered  from  an  inextinguishable  thirst. 


6  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

His  wife,  during  her  lifetime,  managed  to  control  within 
reasonable  bounds  the  passion  for  the  juice  of  the  grape,  a 
taste  so  natural  to  the  bear  that  M.  de  Chateaubriand  re- 
marked it  among  the  ursine  tribes  of  the  New  World.  But 
philosophers  inform  us  that  old  age  is  apt  to  revert  to  the 
habits  of  youth,  and  Sechard  senior  is  a  case  in  point — the 
older  he  grew,  the  better  he  loved  to  drink.  The  master- 
passion  had  given  a  stamp  of  originality  to  an  ursine  physiog- 
nomy ;  his  nose  had  developed  till  it  reached  the  proportions 
of  a  double  great-canon  A ;  his  veined  cheeks  looked  like 
vine-leaves,  covered,  as  they  were,  with  bloated  patches  of 
purple,  madder  red,  and  often  mottled  hues ;  till,  altogether, 
the  countenance  suggested  a  huge  truffle  clasped  about  by 
autumnal  vine-tendrils.  The  little  gray  eyes,  peering  out 
from  beneath  thick  eyebrows  like  bushes  covered  with  snow, 
were  agleam  with  the  cunning  of  avarice  that  had  extinguished 
everything  else  in  the  man,  down  to  the  very  instinct  of 
fatherhood.  Those  eyes  never  lost  their  cunning  even  when 
disguised  in  drink.  Sechard  put  you  in  mind  of  one  of  La 
Fontaine's  Franciscan  friars,  with  the  fringe  of  grizzled  hair 
still  curling  about  his  bald  pate.  He  was  short  and  corpulent, 
like  one  of  the  old-fashioned  lamps  for  illumination,  that  burn 
a  vast  deal  of  oil  to  a  very  small  piece  of  wick  ;  for  excess  of 
any  sort  confirms  the  habit  of  body,  and  drunkenness,  like 
too  much  study,  makes  the  fat  man  stouter  and  the  lean  man 
leaner  still. 

For  thirty  years  Jerome- Nicolas  Sechard  had  worn  the  famous 
municipal  three-cornered  hat,  which  you  may  still  see  here 
and  there  on  the  head  of  the  town  crier  in  out-of-the-way 
places.  His  breeches  and  waistcoat  were  of  greenish  velve- 
teen, and  he  wore  an  old-fashioned  brown  greatcoat,  gray 
cotton  stockings,  and  shoes  with  silver  buckles  to  them.  This 
costume,  in  which  the  workman  shone  through  the  burgess, 
was  so  thoroughly  in  keeping  with  the  man's  character,  de- 
fects, and  way  of  life,  that  he  might  have  come  ready  dressed 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  7 

into  the  world.  You  could  no  more  imagine  him  apart  from 
his  clothes  than  you  could  think  of  a  bulb  without  its  husk. 
If  the  old  printer  had  not  long  since  given  the  measure  of  his 
blind  greed,  the  very  nature  of  the  man  came  out  in  the  man- 
ner of  his  abdication. 

Knowing,  as  he  did,  that  his  son  must  have  learned  his 
business  pretty  thoroughly  in  the  great  school  of  the  Didots,  he 
had  yet  been  ruminating  for  a  long  while  over  the  bargain  that 
he  meant  to  drive  with  David.  All  that  the  father  made,  the 
son,  of  course,  was  bound  to  lose,  but  in  business  this  worthy 
knew  nothing  of  father  or  son.  If,  in  the  first  instance,  he 
had  looked  on  David  as  his  only  child,  later  he  came  to  regard 
him  as  the  natural  purchaser  of  the  business,  whose  interests 
were  therefore  opposed  to  his  own.  Sechard  meant  to  sell 
dear ;  David,  of  course,  to  buy  cheap ;  his  son  therefore  was 
an  antagonist,  and  it  was  his  duty  to  get  the  better  of  him. 
The  transformation  of  sentiment  into  self-seeking,  ordinarily 
slow,  tortuous,  and  veiled  by  hypocrisy  in  better  educated 
people,  was  swift  and  direct  in  the  old  "bear,"  who  demon- 
strated the  superiority  of  shrewd  tipple-ography  over  book- 
learned  typography. 

David  came  home,  and  the  old  man  received  him  with  all 
the  cordiality  which  cunning  folk  can  assume  with  an  eye  to 
business.  He  was  as  full  of  thought  for  him  as  any  lover  for 
his  mistress ;  giving  him  his  arm,  telling  him  where  to  put 
his  foot  down  so  as  to  avoid  the  mud,  warming  the  bed  for 
him,  lighting  a  fire  in  his  room,  making  supper  ready.  The 
next  day,  after  he  had  done  his  best  to  fluster  his  son's  wits 
over  a  sumptuous  dinner,  Jerome-Nicolas  Sechard,  after  copi- 
ous potations,  began  with  a  "Now  for  business,"  a  remark 
so  singularly  misplaced  between  two  hiccoughs,  that  David 
begged  his  parent  to  postpone  serious  matters  until  the  mor- 
row. But  the  old  "  bear  "  was  by  no  means  inclined  to  put  off 
the  long-expected  battle  ;  he  was  too  well  prepared  to  turn  his 
tipsiness  to  good  account.  He  had  dragged  the  chain  these 


8  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

fifty  years,  and  he  would  not  wear  it  another  hour ;  to-morrow 
his  son  should  be  the  "boss." 

Perhaps  a  word  or  two  about  the  business  premises  may  be 
said  here.  The  printing-house  had  been  established  since  the 
reign  of  Louis  XIV.  in  the  angle  made  by  the  Rue  de  Beaulieu 
and  the  Place  du  Murier ;  it  had  been  devoted  to  its  present 
purposes  for  a  long  time  past.  The  ground  floor  consisted  of 
a  single  huge  room,  lighted  on  the  side  next  the  street  by  an 
old-fashioned  casement  and  by  a  large  sash-window  that  gave 
upon  the  yard  at  the  back.  A  passage  at  the  side  led  to  the 
private  office ;  but  in  the  provinces  the  processes  of  typog- 
raphy excite  such  a  lively  interest  that  customers  usually  pre- 
ferred to  enter  by  way  of  the  glass  door  in  the  street  front, 
though  they  at  once  descended  three  steps,  for  the  floor  of  the 
workshop  lay  below  the  level  of  the  street.  The  gaping  new- 
comer always  failed  to  note  the  perils  of  the  passage  through 
the  shop;  and  while  staring  at  the  sheets  of  paper  strung  in 
groves  across  the  ceiling,  ran  against  the  rows  of  cases,  or 
knocked  his  hat  against  the  tie-bars  that  secured  the  presses 
in  position.  Or  the  customer's  eyes  would  follow  the  agile 
movements  of  a  compositor,  picking  out  type  from  the  hun- 
dred and  fifty-two  compartments  of  his  case,  reading  his  copy, 
verifying  the  words  in  the  composing-stick,  and  leading  the 
lines,  till  a  ream  of  damp  paper  weighted  with  heavy  slabs, 
and  set  down  in  the  middle  of  the  gangway,  tripped  up  the 
bemused  spectator,  or  he  caught  his  hip  against  the  angle  of  a 
bench,  to  the  huge  delight  of  boys,  "bears,"  and  "  monkeys." 
No  wight  had  ever  been  known  to  reach  the  further  end  with- 
out accident.  A  couple  of  glass-windowed  cages  had  been 
built  out  into  the  yard  at  the  back  ;  the  foreman  sat  in  state  in 
the  one,  the  master  printer  in  the  other.  Out  in  the  yard  the 
walls  were  agreeably  decorated  by  trellised  vines,  a  tempting 
bit  of  color,  considering  the  owner's  reputation.  On  the  one 
side  of  the  space  stood  the  kitchen,  on  the  other  the  wood- 
shed, and  in  a  ramshackle  penthouse  against  the  hall  at  the  back 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  9 

the  paper  was  trimmed  and  damped  down.  Here,  too,  the 
forms,  or,  in  ordinary  language,  the  masses  of  set-up  type, 
were  washed.  Inky  streams  issuing  thence  blended  with  the 
ooze  from  the  kitchen  sink,  and  found  their  way  into  the 
kennel  in  the  street  outside ;  till  peasants  coming  into  the 
town  of  a  market  day  believed  that  the  devil  was  taking  a 
wash  inside  the  establishment. 

As  to  the  house  above  the  printing-office,  it  consisted  of  three 
rooms  on  the  second  floor  and  a  couple  of  attics  in  the  roof. 
The  first  room  did  duty  as  dining-room  and  lobby  ;  it  was 
exactly  the  same  length  as  the  passage  below,  less  the  space 
taken  up  by  the  old-fashioned  wooden  staircase,  and  was 
lighted  by  a  narrow  casement  on  the  street  and  a  bull's-eye 
window  looking  into  the  yard.  The  chief  characteristic  of 
the  apartment  was  a  cynic  simplicity,  due  to  money-making 
greed.  The  bare  walls  were  covered  with  plain  whitewash ; 
the  dirty  brick  floor  had  never  been  scoured  ;  the  furniture 
consisted  of  three  rickety  chairs,  a  round  table,  and  a  side- 
board stationed  between  the  two  doors  of  a  bedroom  and  a 
sitting-room.  Windows  and  doors  alike  were  dingy  with 
accumulated  grime.  Reams  of  blank  paper  or  printed  matter 
usually  encumbered  the  floor,  and  more  frequently  than  not 
the  remains  of  Sechard's  dinner,  empty  bottles  and  plates, 
were  lying  about  on  the  packages. 

The  bedroom  was  lighted  on  the  side  of  the  yard  by  a 
window  with  leaded  panes,  and  hung  with  the  old-world 
tapestry  that  decorated  house-fronts  in  provincial  towns  on 
Corpus  Christi  day.  For  furniture  it  boasted  a  vast  four-post 
bedstead  with  canopy,  valances  and  quilt  of  crimson  serge,  a 
couple  of  worm-eaten  armchairs,  two  tapestry-covered  chairs 
in  walnut  wood,  an  aged  bureau,  and  a  timepiece  on  the 
mantel.  The  Seigneur  Rouzeau,  Jerome-Nicolas'  master  and 
predecessor,  had  furnished  the  homely  old-world  room  ;  it  was 
just  as  he  had  left  it. 

The  sitting-room  had  been  partially  modernized  by  the  late 


10  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Mme.  S6chard;  the  walls  were  adorned  with  a  wainscot, 
fearful  to  behold,  painted  the  color  of  powder  blue.  The 
panels  were  decorated  with  wall-paper — Oriental  scenes  in 
sepia  tint — and  for  all  furniture,  half-a-dozen  chairs  with  lyre- 
shaped  backs  and  blue  leather  cushions  were  ranged  around 
the  room.  The  two  clumsy  arched  windows  that  gave  upon  the 
Place  du  Murier  were  curtainless ;  there  was  neither  clock  nor 
candle  sconce  nor  mirror  above  the  mantel,  for  Mme.  Sechard 
had  died  before  she  carried  out  her  scheme  of  decoration ; 
and  the  "bear,"  unable  to  conceive  the  use  of  improve- 
ments that  brought  in  no  return  in  money,  had  left  it  at 
this  point. 

Hither,  pede  titubante,  Jerome-Nicolas  Sechard  brought  his 
son,  and  pointed  to  a  sheet  of  paper  lying  on  the  table — a 
valuation  of  plant  drawn  up  by  the  foreman  under  his  direc- 
tion. 

"  Read  that,  my  boy,"  said  Jerome-Nicolas,  rolling  a 
drunken  eye  from  the  paper  to  his  son  and  back  again  to  the 
paper.  "You  will  see  what  a  jewel  of  a  printing-house  I  am 
giving  you." 

"  *  Three  wooden  presses,  held  in  position  by  iron  tie-bars, 

cast-iron  plates '  " 

"An  improvement  of  my  own,"  put  in  Sechard  senior. 

"  ' Together  with  all  the  implements,  ink-tables,  balls, 

benches,  etcetera,  sixteen  hundred  francs  !  '  Why,  father," 
cried  David,  letting  the  sheet  fall,  "these  presses  of  yours  are 
old  sabots  not  worth  a  hundred  crowns ;  they  are  only  fit  for 
firewood  !  " 

"Sabots?"  cried  old  Sechard,  "Sabots?  There,  take  the 
inventory  and  let  us  go  downstairs.  You  will  soon  see  whether 
your  paltry  ironwork  contrivances  will  work  like  these  solid 
old  tools,  tried  and  trusty.  You  will  not  have  the  heart  after 
that  to  slander  honest  old  presses  that  go  like  mail-coaches, 
and  are  good  to  last  you  your  lifetime,  without  needing  re- 
pairs of  any  sort.  Sabots  !  Yes,  sabots  that  are  likely  to  hold 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  11 

salt  enough  to  cook  your  eggs  with — sabots  that  your  father 
has  plodded  on  with  these  twenty  years ;  they  have  helped 
him  to  make  you  what  you  are." 

The  father,  without  coming  to  grief  on  the  way,  lurched 
down  the  worn,  knotty  staircase  that  shook  under  his  tread. 
In  the  passage  he  opened  the  door  of  the  workshop,  flew  to 
the  nearest  press  (artfully  oiled  and  cleaned  for  the  occasion) 
and  pointed  out  the  strong  oaken  cheeks,  polished  up  by  the 
apprentice. 

"  Isn't  it  a  love  of  a  press  ?  " 

A  wedding  announcement  lay  in  the  press.  The  old 
"bear"  folded  down  the  frisket  upon  the  tympan,  and  the 
tympan  upon  the  form,  ran  in  the  carriage,  worked  the  lever, 
drew  out  the  carriage,  and  lifted  the  frisket  and  tympan,  all 
with  as  much  agility  as  the  youngest  of  the  tribe.  The  press, 
handled  in  this  sort,  creaked  aloud  in  such  fine  style  that  you 
might  have  thought  that  some  bird  had  dashed  itself  against 
a  window-pane  and  flown  away  again. 

"  Where  is  the  English  press  that  could  go  at  that  pace?" 
the  parent  asked  of  his  astonished  son. 

Old  Sechard  hurried  to  the  second,  and  then  to  the  third  in 
order,  repeating  the  manoeuvre  with  equal  dexterity.  The 
third  presenting  to  his  wine-troubled  eye  a  patch  overlooked 
by  the  apprentice,  with  a  notable  oath  he  rubbed  it  with  the 
skirt  of  his  overcoat,  much  as  a  horse-dealer  polishes  the  coat 
of  an  animal  that  he  is  trying  to  sell. 

"  With  those  three  presses,  David,  you  can  make  your  nine 
thousand  francs  a  year  without  a  foreman.  As  your  future 
partner,  I  am  opposed  to  your  replacing  these  presses  by  your 
cursed  cast-iron  machinery,  that  wears  out  the  type.  You  in 
Paris  have  been  making  such  a  to-do  over  that  damned  Eng- 
lishman's invention — a  foreigner,  an  enemy  of  France,  who 
wants  to  help  the  ironfounders  to  a  fortune.  Oh  !  you  wanted 
Stanhopes,  did  you?  Thanks  for  your  Stanhopes,  that  cost 
two  thousand  five  hundred  francs  a  piece,  about  twice  as 


12  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

much  as  my  three  jewels  put  together,  and  maul  your  type  to 
pieces,  because  there  is  no  give  in  them.  I  haven't  book- 
learning  like  you,  but  you  keep  this  well  in  mind,  the  life  of 
the  Stanhope  is  the  death  of  the  type.  Those  three  presses 
will  serve  your  turn  well  enough,  the  printing  will  be  properly 
done,  and  folk  here  in  Angouleme  won't  ask  any  more  of  you. 
You  may  print  with  presses  made  of  wood  or  iron  or  gold  or 
silver,  they  will  never  pay  you  a  farthing  more." 

"  'If em,'  "  pursued  David,  "  'five  thousand  pounds  weight 
of  type  from  Monsieur  Vaflard's  foundry '  "  Didot's  ap- 
prentice could  not  help  smiling  at  the  name. 

"  Laugh  away  !  After  twelve  years  of  wear,  that  type  is  as 
good  as  new.  That  is  what  I  call  a  typefounder !  Monsieur 
Vaflard  is  an  honest  man,  who  uses  hard  metal ;  and,  to  my 
way  of  thinking,  the  best  typefounder  is  the  one  you  go  to 
most  seldom." 

"'Taken  at  ten  thousand  francs,'"  continued  David. 
"  Ten  thousand  francs,  father  !  Why,  that  is  two  francs  a 
pound,  and  the  Messrs.  Didot  only  ask  thirty-six  sous  for  their 
Cicero  !  These  nail-heads  of  yours  will  only  fetch  the  price 
of  old  metal — ten  sous  a  pound." 

"You  call  Monsieur  Gill6's  italics,  running-hand  and 
round-hand,  '  nail-heads,'  do  you?  Monsieur  Gille,  that  used 
to  be  printer  to  the  Emperor.  And  type  that  cost  six  francs 
a  pound  !  masterpieces  of  engraving,  bought  only  five  years 
ago.  Some  of  them  are  as  bright  yet  as  when  they  came  from 
the  foundry.  Look  here  !  " 

Old  Sechard  pounced  upon  some  packets  of  unused  sorts 
and  held  them  out  for  David  to  see. 

"I  am  not  book-learned;  I  don't  know  how  to  read  or 
write ;  but,  all  the  same,  I  know  enough  to  see  that  Monsieur 
Gild's  sloping  letters  are  the  fathers  of  your  Messieurs  Didot's 
English  running-hand.  Here  is  round  hand,"  he  went  on, 
taking  up  an  unused  pica  type. 

David  saw  that  there  was  no  way  of  coming  to  terms  with 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  13 

his  father.  It  was  a  case  of  Yes  or  No — of  taking  or  leaving 
it.  The  very  ropes  across  the  ceiling  had  gone  down  into 
the  old  ''bear's"  inventory,  and  not  the  smallest  item  was 
omitted  ;  jobbing  chases,  wetting-boards,  paste-pots,  rinsing- 
trough,  and  lye-brushes  had  all  been  put  down  and  valued 
separately  with  miserly  exactitude.  The  total  amounted  to 
thirty  thousand  francs,  including  the  license  and  the  good-will. 
David  asked  himself  whether  or  not  this  thing  were  feasible. 

Old  Sechard  grew  uneasy  over  his  son's  silence ;  he  would 
rather  have  had  stormy  argument  than  a  wordless  acceptance 
of  the  situation.  Chaffering  in  these  sorts  of  bargains  means 
that  a  man  can  look  after  his  interests.  "  A  man  who  is 
ready  to  pay  you  anything  you  ask  will  pay  nothing,"  old 
Sechard  was  saying  to  himself.  While  he  tried  to  follow  his 
son's  train  of  thought,  he  went  through  the  list  of  odds  and 
ends  of  plant  needed  by  a  country  business,  drawing  David 
now  to  a  hot-press,  now  to  a  cutting-press,  bragging  of  its  use- 
fulness and  sound  condition. 

"  Old  tools  are  always  the  best  tools,"  said  he.  "  In  our 
line  of  business  they  ought  to  fetch  more  than  the  new,  like 
goldbeaters'  tools." 

Hideous  vignettes,  representing  Hymen  and  Cupid,  skele- 
tons raising  the  lids  of  their  tombs  to  describe  a  V  or  an  M, 
and  huge  borders  of  masks  for  theatrical  posters  became  in 
turn  objects  of  tremendous  value  through  old  Jerome-Nicolas' 
vinous  eloquence.  Old  custom,  he  told  his  son,  was  so  deeply 
rooted  in  the  district  that  he  (David)  would  only  waste  his 
pains  if  he  gave  them  the  finest  things  in  life.  He  himself 
had  tried  to  sell  them  a  better  class  of  almanac  than  the 
"Double  Liegeois"  on  grocers'  paper;  and  what  came  of 
it?  the  original  "Double  Liegeois"  sold  better  than  the 
most  sumptuous  calendars.  David  would  soon  see  the  impor- 
tance of  these  old-fashioned  things  when  he  found  he  could 
get  more  for  them  than  for  the  most  costly  new-fangled  articles. 

"Aha  !  my  boy,  Paris  is  Paris,  and  the  provinces  are  the 


14  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

provinces.  If  a  man  came  in  from  L'Houmeau  with  an  order 
for  wedding-cards,  and  you  were  to  print  them  without  a 
Cupid  and  garlands,  he  would  not  believe  that  he  was  properly 
married  ;  you  would  have  them  all  back  again  if  you  sent 
them  out  with  a  plain  M  on  them  after  the  style  of  your  Mes- 
sieurs Didot.  They  may  be  fine  printers,  but  their  inventions 
won't  take  in  the  provinces  for  another  hundred  years.  So 
there  you  are." 

A  generous  man  is  a  bad  bargain-driver.  David's  nature 
was  of  the  sensitive  and  affectionate  type  that  shrinks  from  a 
dispute,  and  gives  way  at  once  if  an  opponent  touches  his 
feelings.  His  loftiness  of  feeling,  and  the  fact  that  the  old 
toper  had  himself  well  in  hand,  put  him  still  further  at  a  dis- 
advantage in  a  dispute  about  money  matters  with  his  own 
father,  especially  as  he  credited  that  father  with  the  best  in- 
tentions, and  took  his  covetous  greed  for  a  printer's  attach- 
ment to  his  old  familiar  tools.  Still,  as  Jerome-Nicolas  Sech- 
ard  had  taken  the  whole  place  over  from  Rouzeau's  widow 
for  ten  thousand  francs,  paid  in  assignats,  it  stood  to  reason 
that  thirty  thousand  francs  in  coin  at  the  present  day  was  an 
exorbitant  demand. 

"  Father,  you  are  cutting  my  throat !  "  exclaimed  David. 

"/,"  cried  the  old  toper,  raising  his  hand  to  the  lines  of 
cord  across  the  ceiling,  "  I  who  gave  you  life  !  Why,  David, 
what  do  you  suppose  the  license  is  worth  ?  Do  you  know 
that  the  sheet  of  advertisements  alone,  at  five-pence  a  line, 
brought  in  five  hundred  francs  last  month  ?  You  turn  up  the 
books,  lad,  and  see  what  we  make  by  placards  and  the  registers 
at  the  prefecture,  and  the  work  for  the  mayor's  office,  and  the 
bishop  too.  You  are  a  do-nothing  that  has  no  mind  to  get 
on.  You  are  haggling  over  the  horse  that  will  carry  you  to 
some  pretty  bit  of  property  like  Marsac." 

Attached  to  the  valuation  of  plant  there  was  a  deed  of  part- 
nership between  Sechard  senior  and  his  son.  The  good 
father  was  to  let  his  house  and  premises  to  the  new  firm  for 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  16 

twelve  hundred  francs  per  annum,  reserving  one  of  the  two 
rooms  in  the  roof  for  himself.  So  long  as  David's  purchase- 
money  was  not  paid  in  full,  the  profits  were  to  be  divided 
equally  ;  so  soon  as  he  paid  off  his  father,  he  was  to  be  the 
sole  proprietor  of  the  business. 

David  made  a  mental  calculation  of  the  value  of  the  license, 
the  good-will,  and  the  stock  of  paper,  leaving  the  plant  out 
of  account.  It  was  just  possible,  he  thought,  to  clear  off  the 
debt.  He  accepted  the  conditions.  Old  Sechard,  accus- 
tomed to  peasants'  haggling,  knowing  nothing  of  the  wider 
business  views  of  Paris,  was  amazed  at  such  a  prompt  con- 
clusion. 

"Can  he  have  been  putting  money  by?"  he  asked  him- 
self. "Or  is  he  scheming  out,  at  this  moment,  some  way  of 
not  paying  me?  " 

With  this  notion  in  his  head,  he  tried  to  find  out  whether 
David  had  any  money  with  him  ;  he  wanted  to  be  paid  some- 
thing on  account.  The  old  man's  inquisitiveness  roused  his 
son's  distrust ;  David  remained  close  buttoned  up  to  the  chin. 

Next  day,  old  Sechard  made  the  apprentice  move  all  his 
own  household  stuff  up  into  the  attic  until  such  time  as  an 
empty  market  cart  could  take  it  out  on  the  return  journey 
into  the  country ;  and  David  entered  into  possession  of  three 
bare  unfurnished  rooms  on  the  day  that  saw  him  installed  in 
the  printing-house,  without  one  sou  wherewith  to  pay  his 
men's  wages.  When  he  asked  his  father,  as  a  partner,  to  con- 
tribute his  share  toward  the  working  expenses,  the  old  man 
pretended  not  to  understand.  He  had  found  the  printing- 
house,  he  said,  and  he  was  not  bound  to  find  the  money  too. 
He  had  paid  his  share.  Pressed  close  by  his  son's  reasoning, 
he  answered  that  when  he  himself  had  paid  Rouzeau's  widow 
he  had  not  had  a  penny  left.  If  he,  a  poor,  ignorant  working- 
man,  had  made  his  way,  Didot's  apprentice  should  do  still 
better.  Beside,  had  not  David  been  earning  money,  thanks  to 
an  education  paid  for  by  the  sweat  of  his  old  father's  brow  ? 


16  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Now  surely  was  the  time  when  the  education  would  come  in 
useful. 

"What  have  you  done  with  your  'polls?'  "  he  asked,  re- 
turning to  the  charge.  He  meant  to  have  light  on  a  problem 
which  his  son  left  unresolved  the  day  before. 

"Why,  had  I  not  to  live?"  David  asked  indignantly, 
"  and  books  to  buy  beside  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  you  bought  books,  did  you  ?  You  will  make  a  poor 
man  of  business.  A  man  that  buys  books  is  hardly  fit  to 
print  them,"  retorted  the  "bear." 

Then  David  endured  the  most  painful  of  humiliations — the 
sense  of  shame  for  a  parent ;  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
be  passive  while  his  father  poured  out  a  flood  of  reasons — 
sordid,  whining,  contemptible,  money-getting  reasons  —  in 
which  the  niggardly  old  man  wrapped  his  refusal.  David 
crushed  down  his  pain  into  the  depths  of  his  soul;  he  saw 
that  he  was  alone ;  saw  that  he  had  no  one  to  look  to  but  him- 
self;  saw,  too,  that  his  father  was  trying  to  make  money  out 
of  him ;  and,  in  a  spirit  of  philosophical  curiosity,  he  tried  to 
find  out  how  far  the  old  man  would  go.  He  called  old 
Sechard's  attention  to  the  fact  that  he  had  never  as  yet  made 
any  inquiry  as  to  his  mother's  fortune  ;  if  that  fortune  would 
not  buy  the  printing-house,  it  might  go  some  way  toward 
paying  the  working  expenses. 

"Your  mother's  fortune?"  echoed  old  S6chard ;  "why, 
it  was  her  beauty  and  intelligence !  " 

David  understood  his  father  thoroughly  after  that  answer ; 
he  understood  that  only  after  an  interminable,  expensive,  and 
disgraceful  lawsuit  could  he  obtain  any  account  of  the  money 
which  by  right  was  his.  The  noble  heart  accepted  the  heavy 
burden  laid  upon  it,  seeing  clearly  beforehand  how  difficult 
it  would  be  to  free  himself  from  the  engagements  into  which 
he  had  entered  with  his  father.  It  was  a  heavy  undertaking, 
but  must  be  attempted. 

"I  will  work,"  he  said  to  himself.     "  After  all,  if  I  have  a 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  17 

rough  time  of  it,  so  had  the  old  man ;  beside,  I  shall  be  work- 
ing for  myself,  shall  I  not  ?  " 

"  I  am  leaving  you  a  treasure,"  said  Sechard,  uneasy  at  his 
son's  silence. 

David  asked  what  the  treasure  might  be. 

"  Marion  !  "  said  his  father. 

Marion,  a  big  country  girl,  was  an  indispensable  part  of  the 
establishment.  It  was  Marion  who  damped  the  paper  and 
cut  it  to  size;  Marion  did  the  cooking,  washing,  and  market- 
ing; Marion  unloaded  the  paper  carts,  collected  accounts, 
and  cleaned  the  ink-balls ;  and  if  Marion  had  but  known  how 
to  read,  old  Sechard  would  have  put  her  to  set  up  type  into 
the  bargain. 

Old  Sechard  set  out  on  foot  for  the  country.  Delighted  as 
he  was  with  his  sale  of  the  business,  he  was  not  quite  easy  in 
his  mind  as  to  the  payment.  To  the  throes  of  the  vendor, 
the  agony  of  uncertainty  as  to  the  completion  of  the  purchase 
inevitably  succeeds.  Passion  of  every  sort  is  essentially  Jesu- 
itical. Here  was  a  man  who  thought  that  education  was  use- 
less, forcing  himself  to  believe  in  the  influence  of  education. 
He  was  mortgaging  thirty  thousand  francs  upon  the  ideas  of 
honor  and  conduct  which  education  should  have  developed  in 
his  son  ;  David  had  received  a  good  training,  so  David  would 
sweat  blood  and  water  to  fulfill  his  engagements;  David's 
knowledge  would  discover  new  resources ;  and  David  seemed 
to  be  full  of  fine  feelings,  so — David  would  pay  !  Many  a 
parent  does  in  this  way,  and  thinks  that  he  has  acted  a  father's 
part ;  old  Sechard  was  quite  of  that  opinion  by  the  time  that 
he  reached  his  vineyard  at  Marsac,  a  hamlet  some  four  leagues 
out  of  Augoul&me.  The  previous  owner  had  built  a  nice  little 
house  on  the  bit  of  property,  and  from  year  to  year  had  added 
other  bits  of  land  to  it,  until  in  1809  the  old  "  bear  "  bought 
the  whole,  and  went  thither,  exchanging  the  toil  of  the  print- 
ing-press for  the  labor  of  the  wine-press.  As  he  put  it  himself, 
2 


18  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"he  had  been  in  that  line  so  long  that  he  ought  to  know 
something  about  it." 

During  the  first  twelvemonth  of  rural  retirement,  S6chard 
senior  showed  a  careful  countenance  among  his  vine  props ; 
for  he  was  always  in  his  vineyard  now,  just  as,  in  the  old  days, 
he  had  lived  in  his  shop,  day  in,  day  out.  The  prospect  of 
thirty  thousand  francs  was  even  more  intoxicating  than  sweet 
wine ;  already  in  imagination  he  fingered  the  coin.  The  less 
the  claim  to  the  money,  the  more  eager  he  grew  to  pouch  it. 
Not  seldom  his  anxieties  sent  him  hurrying  from  Marsac  to 
Angoulgme ;  he  would  climb  up  the  rocky  staircases  into  the 
old  city  and  walk  into  his  son's  workshop  to  see  how  business 
went.  There  stood  the  presses  in  their  places ;  the  one  ap- 
prentice, in  a  paper-cap,  was  cleaning  the  ink-balls ;  there 
was  a  creaking  of  a  press  over  the  printing  of  some  trade  cir- 
cular, the  old  type  was  still  unchanged,  and  in  the  dens  at 
the  end  of  the  room  he  saw  his  son  and  the  foreman  reading 
books,  which  the  "bear"  took  for  proof-sheets.  Then  he 
would  join  David  at  dinner  and  go  back  to  Marsac,  chewing 
the  cud  of  uneasy  reflection  during  the  whole  of  the  long 
walk. 

Avarice,  like  love,  has  the  gift  of  second-sight,  instinctively 
guessing  at  future  contingencies,  and  hugging  its  presenti- 
ments. Se"chard  senior  living  at  a  distance,  far  from  the 
workshop  and  the  machinery  which  possessed  such  a  fascina- 
tion for  him,  reminding  him,  as  it  did,  of  days  when  he  was 
making  his  way,  could  feel  that  there  were  disquieting  symp- 
toms of  inactivity  in  his  son.  The  name  of  Cointet  Brothers 
haunted  him  like  a  dread ;  he  saw  Sechard  &  Son  dropping 
into  the  second  place.  In  short,  the  old  man  scented  misfor- 
tune in  the  wind. 

His  presentiments  were  too  well  founded  ;  disaster  was 
hovering  over  the  house  of  Sechard.  But  there  is  a  tutelary 
deity  for  misers,  and  by  a  chain  of  unforeseen  circumstances 
that  tutelary  deity  was  so  ordering  matters  that  the  purchase- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  19 

money  of  his  extortionate  bargain  was  to  be  tumbled,  after  all, 
into  the  old  toper's  pouch. 

Indifferent  to  the  religious  reaction  brought  about  by  the 
restoration,  indifferent  no  less  to  the  Liberal  movement, 
David  preserved  a  most  unlucky  neutrality  on  the  burning 
questions  of  the  day.  In  those  times  provincial  men  of  busi- 
ness were  bound  to  profess  political  opinions  of  some  sort  if 
they  meant  to  secure  custom ;  they  were  forced  to  choose  for 
themselves  between  the  patronage  of  the  Liberals  on  the  one 
hand  or  the  Royalists  on  the  other.  And  love,  moreover,  had 
come  to  David's  heart,  and  with  his  scientific  preoccupation 
and  finer  nature  he  had  not  room  for  the  dogged  greed  of 
which  your  successful  man  of  business  is  made ;  it  choked  the 
keen  money-getting  instinct  which  would  have  led  him  to 
study  the  differences  between  the  Paris  trade  and  the  business 
of  a  provincial  printing-house.  The  shades  of  opinion  so 
sharply  defined  in  the  country  are  blurred  and  lost  in  the 
great  currents  of  Parisian  business  life.  Cointet  Brothers  set 
themselves  deliberately  to  assimilate  all  shades  of  monarchical 
opinion.  They  let  every  one  know  that  they  fasted  of  a 
Friday  and  kept  Lent ;  they  haunted  the  Cathedral ;  they  cul- 
tivated the  society  of  the  clergy ;  and  in  consequence,  when 
books  of  devotion  were  once  more  in  demand,  Cointet  Brothers 
were  the  first  in  this  lucrative  field.  They  slandered  David, 
accusing  him  of  liberalism,  atheism,  and  whatnot.  How, 
asked  they,  could  any  one  employ  a  man  whose  father  had 
been  a  Septembrist,  a  Bonapartist,  and  a  drunkard  to  boot  ? 
The  old  man  was  sure  to  leave  plenty  of  gold-pieces  behind 
him.  They  themselves  were  poor  men  with  families  to  sup- 
port, while  David  was  a  bachelor  and  could  do  as  he  pleased; 
he  would  have  plenty  one  of  these  days ;  he  could  afford  to 
take  things  easily;  whereas,  and  so  forth  and  so  forth. 

Such  tales  against  David,  once  put  into  circulation,  produced 
their  effect.  The  monopoly  of  the  prefectorial  and  diocesan 
work  passed  gradually  into  the  hands  of  Cointet  Brothers; 


20  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

and  before  long  David's  keen  competitors,  emboldened  by  his 
inaction,  started  a  second  local  sheet  of  advertisements  and 
announcements.  The  older  establishment  was  left  at  length 
with  the  job-printing  orders  from  the  town,  and  the  circulation 
of  the  "  Charente  Chronicle  "  fell  off  by  one-half.  Meanwhile 
the  Cointets  grew  richer ;  they  had  made  handsome  profits  on 
their  devotional  books;  and  now  they  offered  to  buy  Sechard's 
paper,  to  have  all  the  trade  and  judicial  announcements  of 
the  department  in  their  own  hands. 

The  news  of  this  proposal  sent  by  David  to  his  father 
brought  the  old  vine-grower  from  Marsac  into  the  Place  du 
Murier  with  the  swiftness  of  the  raven  that  scents  the  corpses 
on  a  battlefield. 

"Leave  me  to  manage  the  Cointets,"  said  he  to  his  son; 
"don't  you  meddle  in  this  business." 

The  old  man  saw  what  the  Cointets  meant,  and  they  took 
alarm  at  his  clear-sighted  sagacity.  His  son  was  making  a 
blunder,  he  said,  and  he,  Sechard,  had  come  to  put  a  stop 
to  it. 

"  What  was  to  become  of  the  connection  if  David  gave  up 
the  paper?  It  all  depended  upon  the  paper.  All  the  attorneys 
and  solicitors  and  men  of  business  in  L'Houmeau  were  Lib- 
erals to  a  man.  The  Cointets  had  tried  to  ruin  the  Sechards 
by  accusing  them  of  Liberalism,  and  by  so  doing  gave  them  a 
plank  to  cling  to — the  Sechards  should  keep  the  Liberal  busi- 
ness. Sell  the  paper  indeed  !  Why,  you  might  as  well  sell 
the  stock-in-trade  and  the  license  !  " 

Old  Sechard  asked  the  Cointets  sixty  thousand  francs  for  the 
printing  business,  so  as  not  to  ruin  his  son  ;  he  was  fond  of 
his  son;  he  was  taking  his  son's  part.  The  vine-grower 
brought  his  son  to  the  front  to  gain  his  point,  as  a  peasant 
brings  in  his  wife. 

His  son  was  unwilling  to  do  this,  that,  or  the  other;  it 
varied  according  to  the  offers  which  he  wrung  one  after  an- 
other from  the  Cointets,  until,  not  without  an  effort,  he  drew 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  21 

them  on  to  give  twenty-two  thousand  francs  for  the  "  Charente 
Chronicle."  But,  at  the  same  time,  David  must  pledge  him- 
self thenceforward  to  print  no  newspaper  whatsoever,  under  a 
penalty  of  thirty  thousand  francs  for  damages. 

That  transaction  dealt  the  death-blow  to  the  Sechard  estab- 
lishment ;  but  the  old  vine-grower  did  not  trouble  himself 
much  on  that  head.  Murder  usually  follows  robbery.  Our 
worthy  friend  intended  to  pay  himself  with  the  ready  money. 
To  have  the  cash  in  his  own  hands  he  would  have  given  in 
David  himself  over  and  above  the  bargain,  and  so  much  the 
more  willingly  since  that  this  nuisance  of  a  son  could  claim 
one-half  of  the  unexpected  windfall.  Taking  this  fact  into 
consideration,  therefore,  the  generous  parent  consented  to 
abandon  his  share  of  the  business,  but  not  the  business  prem- 
ises; and  the  rental  was  still  maintained  at  the  famous  sum 
of  twelve  hundred  francs  per  annum. 

The  old  man  came  into  town  very  seldom  after  the  paper 
was  sold  to  the  Cointets.  He  pleaded  his  advanced  age,  but  the 
truth  was  that  he  took  little  interest  in  the  establishment  now 
that  it  was  his  no  longer.  Still,  he  could  not  quite  shake  off  his 
old  kindness  for  his  stock-in-trade;  and  when  business  brought 
him  into  AngouleTne,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  say  which 
was  the  stronger  attraction  to  the  old  house — his  wooden 
presses  or  the  son  whom  (as  a  matter  of  form)  he  asked  for 
rent.  The  old  foreman,  who  had  gone  over  to  the  rival  estab- 
lishment, knew  exactly  how  much  this  fatherly  generosity  was 
worth  ;  the  old  fox  meant  to  reserve  a  right  to  interfere  in  his 
son's  affairs,  and  had  taken  care  to  appear  in  the  bankruptcy 
as  a  privileged  creditor  for  arrears  of  rent. 

The  causes  of  David's  heedlessness  throw  a  light  on  the 
character  of  that  young  man.  Only  a  few  days  after  his  estab- 
lishment in  the  paternal  printing-office,  he  came  across  an  old 
school  friend  in  the  direst  poverty.  Lucien  Chardon,  a  young 
fellow  of  one-and-twenty  or  thereabouts,  was  the  son  of  a  sur- 
geon-major who  had  retired  with  a  wound  from  the  Repub- 


22  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

lican  army.  Nature  had  meant  M.  Chardon  senior  for  a 
chemist ;  chance  opened  the  way  for  a  retail  druggist's  busi- 
ness in  Angouleme.  After  many  years  of  scientific  research, 
death  cut  him  off  in  the  midst  of  his  incompleted  experiments, 
and  the  great  discovery  that  should  have  brought  wealth  to 
the  family  was  never  made.  Chardon  had  tried  to  find  a 
specific  for  the  gout.  Gout  is  a  rich  man's  malady ;  the  rich 
will  pay  large  sums  to  recover  health  when  they  have  lost  it, 
and  for  this  reason  the  druggist  deliberately  selected  gout  as 
his  problem.  Halfway  between  the  man  of  science  on  the 
one  side  and  the  charlatan  on  the  other,  he  saw  that  the  scien- 
tific method  was  the  one  road  to  assured  success,  and  had 
studied  the  causes  of  the  complaint,  and  based  his  remedy  on 
a  certain  general  theory  of  treatment,  with  modifications  in 
practice  for  varying  temperaments.  Then,  on  a  visit  to  Paris 
undertaken  to  solicit  the  approval  of  the  "  Academic  des 
Sciences,"  he  died,  and  lost  all  the  fruits  of  his  labors. 

It  may  have  been  that  some  presentiment  of  the  end  had 
led  the  country  druggist  to  do  all  that  in  him  lay  to  give  his 
boy  and  girl  a  good  education  ;  the  family  had  been  living  up 
to  the  income  brought  in  by  the  business ;  and  now  when 
they  were  left  almost  destitute,  it  was  an  aggravation  of  their 
misfortune  that  they  had  been  brought  up  in  the  expectations 
of  a  brilliant  future ;  for  these  hopes  were  extinguished  by 
their  father's  death.  The  great  Desplein,  who  attended  Char- 
don in  his  last  illness,  saw  him  die  in  convulsions  of  rage. 

The  secret  of  the  army  surgeon's  ambition  lay  in  his  pas- 
sionate love  for  his  wife,  the  last  survivor  of  the  family  of 
Rubempre,  saved  as  by  miracle  from  the  guillotine  in  1793. 
He  had  gained  time  by  declaring  that  she  was  pregnant,  a  lie 
told  without  the  girl's  knowledge  or  consent.  Then,  when 
in  a  manner  he  had  created  a  claim  to  call  her  his  wife,  he 
had  married  her  in  spite  of  their  common  poverty.  The 
children  of  this  marriage,  like  all  children  of  love,  inherited 
the  mother's  wonderful  beauty,  that  gift  so  often  fatal  when 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  23 

accompanied  by  poverty.  The  life  of  hope  and  hard  work 
and  despair,  in  all  of  which  Mme.  Chardon  had  shared  with 
such  keen  sympathy,  had  left  deep  traces  in  her  beautiful  face, 
just  as  the  slow  decline  of  a  scanty  income  had  changed  her 
ways  and  habits ;  but  both  she  and  the  children  confronted 
evil  days  bravely  enough.  She  sold  the  druggist's  store  in 
the  Grand'  Rue  de  L'Houmeau,  the  principal  suburb  of 
Angouleme;  but  it  was  impossible  for  even  one  woman  to 
exist  on  the  three  hundred  francs  of  income  brought  in  by  the 
investment  of  the  purchase-money,  so  the  mother  and  daughter 
accepted  the  position,  and  worked  to  earn  a  living.  The 
mother  went  out  as  a  monthly  nurse,  and  for  her  gentle  man- 
ners was  preferred  to  any  other  among  the  wealthy  houses, 
where  she  lived  without  expense  to  her  children,  and  earned 
some  seven  francs  a  week.  To  save  her  son  the  embarrassment 
of  seeing  his  mother  reduced  to  this  humble  position,  she  as- 
sumed the  name  of  Madame  Charlotte;  and  persons  requir- 
ing her  services  were  requested  to  apply  to  M.  Postel,  M. 
Chardon's  successor  in  the  business.  Lucien's  sister  worked 
for  a  laundress,  a  decent  woman  much  respected  in  L'Hou- 
meau, and  earned  fifteen  daily  sous.  As  Mme.  Prieur's  fore- 
woman she  had  a  certain  position  in  the  workroom,  which 
raised  her  slightly  above  the  class  of  working-girls. 

The  two  women's  slender  earnings,  together  with  Mme. 
Chardon's  three  hundred  francs  of  rentes,  amounted  to  about 
eight  hundred  francs  a  year,  and  on  this  sum  three  persons 
must  be  fed,  clothed,  and  lodged.  Yet,  with  all  their  frugal 
thrift,  the  pittance  was  scarcely  sufficient ;  nearly  the  whole 
of  it  was  needed  for  Lucien.  Mme.  Chardon  and  her  daughter 
Eve  believed  in  Lucien  as  Mahomet's  wife  believed  in  her 
husband ;  their  devotion  for  his  future  knew  no  bounds. 
Their  present  landlord  was  the  successor  to  the  business,  for 
M.  Postel  let  them  have  rooms  at  the  further  end  of  a  yard  at 
the  back  of  the  laboratory  for  a  very  low  rent,  and  Lucien 
slept  in  the  poor  garret  above.  A  father's  passion  for  natural 


24  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

science  had  stimulated  the  boy,  and  at  first  induced  him  to 
follow  in  the  same  path.  Lucien  was  one  of  the  most  bril- 
liant pupils  at  the  high  school  of  Angoulgme,  and  when  David 
Sechard  left  his  future  friend  was  in  the  third  form. 

When  chance  brought  the  school-fellows  together  again, 
Lucien  was  weary  of  drinking  from  the  rude  cup  of  penury, 
and  ready  for  any  of  the  rash  decisive  steps  that  youth  takes 
at  the  age  of  twenty.  David's  generous  offer  of  forty  francs 
a  month  if  Lucien  would  come  to  him  and  learn  the  work  of 
a  printer's  reader  came  in  time ;  David  had  no  need  whatever 
of  a  printer's  reader,  but  he  saved  Lucien  from  despair.  The 
ties  of  a  school  friendship  thus  renewed  were  soon  drawn 
closer  than  ever  by  the  similarity  of  their  lot  in  life  and  the 
dissimilarity  of  their  characters.  Both  felt  high  swelling 
hopes  of  manifold  success ;  both  consciously  possessed  the 
high  order  of  intelligence  which  sets  a  man  on  a  level  with 
lofty  heights,  consigned  though  they  were  socially  to  the 
lowest  level.  Fate's  injustice  was  a  strong  bond  between 
them.  And  then,  by  different  ways,  following  each  his  own 
bent  of  mind,  they  had  attained  to  poesy.  Lucien,  destined 
for  the  highest  speculative  fields  of  natural  science,  was  aim- 
ing with  hot  enthusiasm  at  fame  through  literature ;  while 
David,  with  that  meditative  temperament  which  inclines  to 
poetry,  was  drawn  by  his  tastes  toward  natural  science. 

The  exchange  of  roles  was  the  beginning  of  an  intellectual 
comradeship.  Before  long,  Lucien  told  David  of  his  own 
father's  farsighted  views  of  the  application  of  science  to  man- 
ufacture, while  David  pointed  out  the  new  ways  in  literature 
that  Lucien  must  follow  if  he  meant  to  succeed.  Not  many 
days  had  passed  before  the  young  men's  friendship  became  a 
passion  such  as  is  only  known  in  early  manhood.  Then  it 
was  that  David  caught  a  glimpse  of  Eve's  fair  face,  and  loved 
as  grave  and  meditative  natures  can  love.  The  et  nunc  et 
semper  et  in  secula  seculorum  of  the  liturgy  is  the  device  taken 
by  many  a  sublime  unknown  poet,  whose  works  consist  in 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  25 

magnificent  epics  conceived  and  lost  between  heart  and  heart. 
With  a  lover's  insight,  David  read  the  secret  hopes  set  by  the 
mother  and  sister  on  Lucien's  poet's  brow;  and,  knowing 
their  blind  devotion,  it  was  very  sweet  to  him  to  draw  nearer 
to  his  love  by  sharing  her  hopes  and  her  self-sacrifice.  And 
in  this  way  Lucien  came  to  be  David's  chosen  brother.  As 
there  are  ultras  who  would  fain  be  more  royalist  than  the 
King,  so  David  outdid  the  mother  and  sister  in  his  belief  in 
Lucien's  genius ;  he  spoiled  Lucien  as  a  mother  spoils  her 
child. 

Once,  under  pressure  of  the  lack  of  money  which  tied  their 
hands,  the  two  were  ruminating  after  the  manner  of  young 
men  over  ways  of  promptly  realizing  a  large  fortune ;  and, 
after  fruitless  shakings  of  all  the  trees  already  stripped  by 
previous  comers,  Lucien  bethought  himself  of  two  of  his 
father's  ideas.  M.  Chardon  had  talked  of  a  method  of  refin- 
ing sugar  by  a  chemical  process,  which  would  reduce  the  cost 
of  production  by  one-half;  and  he  had  another  plan  for 
employing  an  American  vegetable  fibre  for  making  paper, 
something  after  the  Chinese  fashion,  and  effecting  an  enor- 
mous saving  in  the  cost  of  raw  material.  David,  knowing 
the  importance  of  a  question  raised  already  by  the  Didots, 
caught  at  this  latter  notion,  saw  a  fortune  in  it,  and  looked 
upon  Lucien  as  a  benefactor  whom  he  could  never  repay. 

Any  one  may  guess  how  the  ruling  thoughts  and  inner 
life  of  this  pair  of  friends  unfitted  them  for  carrying  on  the 
business  of  a  printing-house.  So  far  from  making  fifteen  to 
twenty  thousand  francs — like  Cointet  Brothers,  printers  and 
publishers  to  the  diocese  and  proprietors  of  the  "Charente 
Chronicle"  (now  the  only  newspaper  in  the  department) — 
Sechard  &  Son  made  a  bare  three  hundred  francs  per  month, 
out  of  which  the  foreman's  salary  must  be  paid,  as  well  as 
Marion's  wages  and  the  rent  and  taxes;  so  that  David 
himself  was  scarcely  making  twelve  hundred  francs  per  an- 
num. Active  and  industrious  men  of  business  would  have 


26  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

bought  new  type  and  new  machinery,  and  made  an  effort 
to  secure  orders  for  cheap  printing  from  the  Paris  book- 
trade  ;  but  master  and  foreman,  deep  in  absorbing  intel- 
lectual interests,  were  quite  content  with  such  orders  as  came 
to  them  from  their  remaining  customers. 

In  the  long  length  the  Cointets  had  come  to  understand 
David's  character  and  habits.  They  did  not  slander  him 
now ;  on  the  contrary,  wise  policy  required  that  they  should 
allow  the  business  to  flicker  on ;  it  was  to  their  interest  in- 
deed to  maintain  it  in  a  small  way,  lest  it  should  fall  into  the 
hands  of  some  more  formidable  competitor ;  they  made  a 
practice  of  sending  prospectuses  and  circulars — job-printing, 
as  it  is  called — to  the  Sechards'  establishment.  So  it  came 
about  that,  all  unwittingly,  David  owed  his  existence,  com- 
mercially speaking,  to  the  cunning  shemes  of  his  competitors. 
The  Cointets,  well  pleased  with  his  ''craze,"  as  they  called 
it,  behaved  to  all  appearance  both  fairly  and  handsomely ; 
but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were  adopting  the  tactics  of  the 
mail-coach  owners  who  set  up  a  sham  opposition  coach  to 
keep  bona-fide  rivals  out  of  the  field. 

Inside  and  outside  the  condition  of  the  Sechard  printing 
establishment  bore  testimony  to  the  sordid  avarice  of  the 
old  "bear,"  who  never  spent  a  penny  on  repairs.  The  old 
house  had  stood  in  sun  and  rain,  and  borne  the  brunt  of  the 
weather,  till  it  looked  like  some  venerable  tree-trunk  set  down 
at  the  entrance  of  the  alley,  so  riven  it  was  with  seams  and 
cracks  of  all  sorts  and  sizes.  The  house-front,  built  of  brick 
and  stone,  with  no  pretensions  to  symmetry,  seemed  to  be 
bending  beneath  the  weight  of  a  worm-eaten  roof  covered 
with  the  curved  pantiles  in  common  use  in  the  south  of 
France.  The  decrepit  casements  were  fitted  with  the  heavy, 
unwieldly  shutters  necessary  in  that  climate,  and  held  in  place 
by  massive  iron  cross-bars.  It  would  have  puzzled  you  to  find 
a  more  dilapidated  house  in  Angoulfime  ;  nothing  but  sheer 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  27 

tenacity  of  mortar  kept  it  together.  Try  to  picture  the 
workshop,  light  at  either  end  and  dark  in  the  middle;  the 
walls  covered  with  handbills  and  begrimed  by  friction  of 
all  the  workmen  who  had  rubbed  past  them  for  thirty  years ; 
the  cobweb  of  cordage  across  the  ceiling,  the  stacks  of  paper, 
the  old-fashioned  presses,  the  pile  of  slabs  for  weighting  the 
damp  sheets,  the  rows  of  cases,  and  the  two  dens  in  the  far 
corners  where  the  master  printer  and  foreman  sat — and  you 
will  have  some  idea  of  the  life  led  by  the  two  friends. 

One  day  early  in  May,  1821,  David  and  Lucien  were 
standing  together  by  the  window  that  looked  into  the  yard. 
It  was  nearly  two  o'clock,  and  the  four  or  five  men  were 
going  out  to  dinner.  David  waited  until  the  apprentice  had 
shut  the  street  door  with  the  bell  fastened  to  it ;  then  he 
drew  Lucien  out  into  the  yard  as  if  the  smell  of  paper,  ink, 
and  presses  and  old  woodwork  had  grown  intolerable  to  him, 
and  together  they  sat  down  under  the  vines,  keeping  the 
office  and  the  door  in  view.  The  sunbeams,  playing  among 
the  trellised  vine-shoots,  hovered  over  the  two  poets,  making, 
as  it  were,  an  aureola  about  their  heads,  bringing  the  contrast 
between  their  faces  and  their  characters  into  a  vigorous  relief 
that  would  have  tempted  the  brush  of  some  great  painter. 

David's  physique  was  of  the  kind  that  nature  gives  to  the 
fighter,  the  man  born  to  struggle  in  obscurity,  or  with  the 
eyes  of  all  men  turned  on  him.  The  strong  shoulders,  rising 
above  the  broad  chest,  were  in  keeping  with  the  full  develop- 
ment of  his  whole  frame.  With  his  thick  crop  of  black  hair, 
his  fleshy,  high-colored,  swarthy  face,  supported  by  a  thick 
neck,  he  looked  at  first  sight  like  one  of  Boileau's  canons ; 
but  on  a  second  glance  there  was  that  in  the  lines  about  the 
thick  lips,  in  the  dimple  of  the  chin,  in  the  turn  of  the 
square  nostrils,  with  the  broad  irregular  line  of  central 
cleavage,  and,  above  all,  in  the  eyes,  with  the  steady  light  of 
an  all-absorbing  love  that  burned  in  them,  which  revealed  the 
real  character  of  the  man — the  wisdom  of  the  thinker,  the 


28  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

strenuous  melancholy  of  a  spirit  that  discerns  the  horizon 
on  either  side  and  sees  clearly  to  the  end  of  winding  ways, 
turning  the  clear  light  of  analysis  upon  the  joys  of  fruition, 
known  as  yet  in  idea  alone,  and  quick  to  turn  from  them  in 
disgust.  You  might  look  for  the  flash  of  genius  from  such  a 
face  ;  you  could  not  miss  the  ashes  of  the  volcano ;  hopes  ex- 
tinguished beneath  a  profound  sense  of  the  social  annihilation 
to  which  lowly  birth  and  lack  of  fortune  condemns  so  many  a 
loftier  mind.  And  by  the  side  of  the  poor  printer,  who 
loathed  a  handicraft  so  closely  allied  to  intellectual  work, 
close  to  this  Silenus,  joyless,  self-sustained,  drinking  deep 
draughts  from  the  cup  of  knowledge  and  of  poetry  that  he 
might  forget  the  cares  of  his  narrow  lot  in  the  intoxication  of 
soul  and  brain,  stood  Lucien,  graceful  as  some  sculptured 
Indian  Bacchus. 

For  in  Lucien's  face  there  was  the  distinction  of  line  which 
stamps  the  beauty  of  the  antique;  the  Greek  profile,  with  the 
velvet  whiteness  of  women's  faces,  and  eyes  full  of  love,  eyes 
so  blue  that  they  looked  dark  against  a  pearly  setting,  and 
dewey  and  fresh  as  those  of  a  child.  Those  beautiful  eyes 
looked  out  from  under  their  long  chestnut  lashes,  beneath  eye- 
brows that  might  have  been  traced  by  a  Chinese  pencil.  The 
silken  down  on  his  cheeks,  like  his  bright  curling  hair,  shone 
golden  in  the  sunlight.  A  divine  graciousness  transfused  the 
white  temples  that  caught  that  golden  gleam ;  a  matchless 
nobleness  had  set  its  seal  in  the  short  chin  raised,  but  not 
abruptly.  The  smile  that  hovered  about  the  coral  lips,  yet 
redder  as  they  seemed  by  force  of  contrast  with  the  even  teeth, 
was  the  smile  of  some  sorrowing  angel.  Lucien's  hands  de- 
noted race  ;  they  were  shapely  hands,  hands  that  men  obey  at 
a  sign,  and  women  love  to  kiss.  Lucien  was  slender  and  of 
middle  height.  From  a  glance  at  his  feet  he  might  have  been 
taken  for  a  girl  in  disguise,  and  this  so  much  the  more  easily 
from  the  feminine  contour  of  the  hips,  a  characteristic  of  keen- 
witted, not  to  say  astute,  men.  This  is  a  trait  which  seldom 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  29 

misleads,  and  in  Lucien  it  was  a  true  indication  of  character ; 
for  when  he  analyzed  the  society  of  to-day,  his  restless  mind 
was  apt  to  take  its  stand  on  the  lower  ground  of  those  diplo- 
matists who  hold  that  success  justifies  the  use  of  any  means, 
however  base.  It  is  one  of  the  misfortunes  attendant  upon 
great  intellects  that  perforce  they  comprehend  all  things,  both 
good  and  evil. 

The  two  young  men  judged  society  by  the  more  lofty 
standard  because  their  social  position  was  at  the  lowest  end 
of  the  scale,  for  unrecognized  power  is  apt  to  avenge  itself 
for  lowly  station  by  viewing  the  world  from  a  lofty  stand- 
point. Yet  it  is,  nevertheless,  true  that  they  grew  but  the 
more  bitter  and  hopeless  after  these  swift  soaring  flights  to  the 
upper  regions  of  thought,  their  world  by  right.  Lucien  had 
read  much  and  compared ;  David  had  thought  much  and 
deeply.  In  spite  of  the  young  printer's  look  of  robust, 
country-bred  health,  his  turn  of  mind  was  melancholy  and 
somewhat  morbid  —  he  lacked  confidence  in  himself;  but 
Lucien,  on  the  other  hand,  with  an  enterprising  but  change- 
able nature,  was  gifted  with  a  boldness  little  to  be  expected 
from  his  feminine,  almost  effeminate,  figure,  graceful  though 
it  was.  Lucien  possessed  the  Gascon  temperament  to  the 
highest  degree — rash,  brave,  and  adventurous,  prone  to  make 
the  most  of  the  bright  side,  and  as  little  as  possible  of  the 
dark ;  his  was  the  nature  that  sticks  at  no  crime  if  there  is 
anything  to  be  gained  by  it,  and  laughs  at  the  vice  which 
serves  as  a  stepping-stone.  Just  now  these  tendencies  of 
ambition  were  held  in  check,  partly  by  the  fair  illusions  of 
youth,  partly  by  the  enthusiasm  which  led  him  to  prefer  the 
nobler  methods,  which  every  man  in  love  with  glory  tries  first 
of  all.  Lucien  was  struggling  as  yet  with  himself  and  his  own 
desires  and  not  with  the  difficulties  of  life ;  at  strife  with  his 
own  power  and  not  with  the  baseness  of  other  men,  that  fatal 
exemplar  for  impressionable  minds.  The  brilliancy  of  his 
intellect  had  a  keen  attraction  for  David.  David  admired  his 


30  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

friend,  while  he  kept  him  out  of  the  scrapes  into  which  he 
was  led  by  the  furie  franfaisc  (French  spirit). 

David,  with  his  well-balanced  mind  and  timid  nature  at 
variance  with  a  strong  constitution,  was  by  no  means  wanting 
in  the  persistence  of  the  Northern  temper ;  and  if  he  saw  all 
the  difficulties  before  him,  none  the  less  he  vowed  to  himself 
to  conquer,  never  to  give  way.  In  him  the  unswerving  virtue 
of  an  apostle  was  softened  by  pity  that  sprang  from  inexhaust- 
ible indulgence.  In  the  friendship  grown  old  already,  one 
was  the  worshiper,  and  that  one  was  David ;  Lucien  ruled 
him  like  a  woman  sure  of  love,  and  David  loved  to  give  way. 
He  felt  that  his  friend's  physical  beauty  implied  a  real  superi- 
ority, which  he  accepted,  looking  upon  himself  as  one  made 
of  coarser  and  commoner  human  clay. 

"The  ox  for  patient  labor  in  the  fields,  the  free  life  for  the 
bird,"  he  thought  to  himself.  "  I  will  be  the  ox,  and  Lucien 
shall  be  the  eagle." 

So  for  three  years  these  friends  had  mingled  the  destinies 
bright  with  such  glorious  promise.  Together  they  read  the 
great  works  that  appeared  above  the  horizon  of  literature  and 
science  since  the  peace — the  poems  of  Schiller,  Goethe,  and 
Byron,  the  prose  writings  of  Scott,  Jean-Paul,  Berzelius,  Davy, 
Cuvier,  Lamartine,  and  many  more.  They  warmed  them- 
selves beside  these  great  hearthfires ;  they  tried  their  powers  in 
abortive  creations,  in  work  laid  aside  and  taken  up  again  with 
new  glow  of  enthusiasm.  Incessantly  they  worked  with  the 
unwearied  vitality  of  youth ;  comrades  in  poverty,  comrades 
in  the  consuming  love  of  art  and  science,  till  they  forgot  the 
hard  life  of  the  present,  for  their  minds  were  wholly  bent  on 
laying  the  foundations  of  future  fame. 

"Lucien,"  said  David,  "do  you  know  what  I  have  just 
received  from  Paris?  "  He  drew  a  tiny  volume  from  his  pocket. 
"Listen!  " 

And  David  read,  as  a  poet  can  read,  first  Andr6  de  Ch6nier's 
Idyll  "Neere,"  then  "Le  Malade,"  following  on  with  the 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  31 

"  Elegy  on  a  Suicide,"  another  elegy  in  the  classic  taste,  and 
the  two  last  "  lambes." 

"So  that  is  Andre  de  Ch6nier  !  "  Lucien  exclaimed  again 
and  again.  "It  fills  one  with  despair!"  he  cried  for  the 
third  time,  when  David  surrendered  the  book  to  him,  unable 
to  read  further  for  emotion.  "A  poet  re-discovered  by  a 
poet  !  "  said  Lucien,  reading  the  signature  of  the  preface. 

"After  Chenier  had  written  those  poems,  he  thought  that 
he  had  written  nothing  worth  publishing,"  added  David. 

Then  Lucien  in  his  turn  read  aloud  the  fragment  of  an  epic 
called  "L'Aveugle"  and  two  or  three  of  the  Elegies,  till, 
when  he  came  upon  the  line — 

"  If  they  know  not  bliss,  is  there  happiness  on  earth  ?  " 

He  pressed  the  book  to  his  lips,  and  tears  came  to  the  eyes  of 
either,  for  the  two  friends  were  lovers  and  fellow-worshipers. 

The  vine-stems  were  changing  color  with  the  spring,  cover- 
ing the  rifted,  battered  walls  of  the  old  house  where  squalid 
cracks  were  spreading  in  every  direction,  with  fluted  columns 
and  knots  and  bas-reliefs  and  uncounted  masterpieces  of  I 
know-not-what  order  of  architecture,  erected  by  fairy  hands. 
Fancy  had  scattered  flowers  and  crimson  gems  over  the  gloomy 
little  yard,  and  Chenier's  "  Camille  "  became  for  David  the 
Eve  whom  he  worshiped,  for  Lucien  a  great  lady  to  whom  he. 
paid  his  homage.  Poetry  had  shaken  out  her  starry  robe 
above  the  workshop  where  the  "monkeys"  and  "bears" 
were  grotesquely  busy  among  types  and  presses.  Five  o'clock 
struck,  but  the  friends  felt  neither  hunger  nor  thirst ;  life  had 
turned  to  a  golden  dream  and  all  the  treasures  of  the  world 
lay  at  their  feet.  Far  away  on  the  horizon  lay  the  blue  streak 
to  which  Hope  points  a  finger  in  storm  and  stress  ;  and  a  siren 
voice  sounded  in  their  ears,  calling,  "Come,  spread  your 
wings ;  through  that  streak  of  gold  or  silver  or  azure  lies  the 
sure  way  of  escape  from  evil  fortune  !  " 

Just  at  that  moment  the  low,  glass  door  of  the  workshop 


32  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

was  opened,  and  out  came  Cerizet,  an  apprentice  (David  had 
brought  the  urchin  from  Paris).  This  youth  introduced  a 
stranger,  who  saluted  the  friends  politely,  and  spoke  to  David. 

"  This,  sir,  is  a  monograph  which  I  am  desirous  of  print- 
ing," he  said,  drawing  a  huge  packet  of  manuscript  from  his 
pocket.  "  Will  you  oblige  me  with  an  estimate?  " 

"  We  do  not  undertake  work  on  such  a  scale,  sir,"  David 
answered,  without  looking  at  the  manuscript.  "You  had 
better  see  the  Messieurs  Cointet  about  it." 

"Still  we  have  a  very  pretty  type  which  might  suit  it," 
put  in  Lucien,  taking  up  the  roll.  "  We  must  ask  you  to  be 
kind  enough,  sir,  to  leave  your  commission  with  us  and  to 
call  again  to-morrow,  and  we  will  give  you  an  estimate?" 

"  Have  I  the  pleasure  of  addressing  Monsieur  Lucien  Char- 
don?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  foreman. 

"  I  am  fortunate  in  this  opportunity  of  meeting  with  a 
young  poet  destined  to  such  greatness,"  returned  the  author. 
"  Madame  de  Bargeton  sent  me  here." 

Lucien  flushed  red  at  the  name,  and  stammered  out  some- 
thing about  gratitude  for  the  interest  which  Mme.  de  Bargeton 
took  in  him.  David  noticed  his  friend's  embarrassed  flush, 
and  left  him  in  conversation  with  the  country  gentleman,  the 
author  of  a  monograph  on  silkworm  cultivation,  prompted  by 
vanity  to  print  the  effort  for  the  benefit  of  fellow-members  of 
the  local  agricultural  society. 

When  the  author  had  gone,  David  spoke : 

"  Lucien,  are  you  in  love  with  Madame  de  Bargeton  ?  " 

"  Passionately." 

"  But  social  prejudices  set  you  as  far  apart  as  if  she  were 
living  at  Pekin  and  you  in  Greenland." 

"  The  will  of  two  lovers  can  rise  victorious  over  all  things," 
said  Lucien,  lowering  his  eyes. 

"You  will  forget  us,"  returned  the  alarmed  lover,  as  Eve's 
fair  face  rose  before  his  mind. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  33 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  have  perhaps  sacrificed  my  love  to 
you,"  cried  Lucien. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  In  spite  of  my  love,  in  spite  of  the  different  motives 
which  bid  me  obtain  a  secure  footing  in  her  house,  I  have 
told  her  that  I  will  never  go  thither  again  unless  another  is 
made  welcome  too,  a  man  whose  gifts  are  greater  than  mine, 
a  man  destined  for  a  brilliant  future — David  Sechard,  my 
brother,  my  friend.  I  shall  find  an  answer  waiting  when  I 
get  home.  All  the  aristocrats  may  have  been  asked  to  hear 
me  read  my  verses  this  evening,  but  I  shall  not  go  if  the 
answer  is  negative,  and  I  will  never  set  foot  in  Madame  de 
Bargeton's  house  again." 

David  brushed  the  tears  from  his  eyes,  and  wrung  Lucien's 
hand.  The  clock  struck  six. 

"  Eve  must  be  anxious;  good-by,"  Lucien  added  abruptly. 

He  hurried  away.  David  stood  overcome  by  the  emotion 
that  is  only  felt  to  the  full  at  his  age,  and  more  especially  in 
such  a  position  as  his — the  friends  were  like  two  young  swans 
with  wings  undipped  as  yet  by  the  experiences  of  provincial 
life. 

"  Heart  of  gold  !  "  David  exclaimed  to  himself,  as  his  eyes 
followed  Lucien  across  the  workshop. 

Lucien  went  down  to  L'Houmeau  along  the  broad  Prome- 
nade de  Beaulieu,  the  Rue  du  Minage,  and  Saint-Peter's  Gate. 
It  was  the  longest  way  round,  so  you  may  be  sure  that  Mme. 
de  Bargeton's  house  lay  on  the  way.  So  delicious  it  was  to 
pass  under  her  windows,  though  she  knew  nothing  of  his  pres- 
ence, that  for  the  past  two  months  he  had  gone  round  daily 
by  the  Palet  Gate  into  L'Houmeau. 

Under  the  trees  of  Beaulieu  he  saw  how  far  the  suburb  lay 
from  the  city.  The  custom  of  the  country,  moreover,  had 
raised  other  barriers  harder  to  surmount  than  the  mere  physi- 
cal difficulty  of  the  steep  flights  of  steps  which  Lucien  was 
3 


34  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

descending.  Youth  and  ambition  had  thrown  the  flying- 
bridge  of  glory  across  the  gulf  between  the  city  and  the  suburb, 
yet  Lucien  was  as  uneasy  in  his  mind  over  his  lady's  answer 
as  any  king's  favorite  who  has  tried  to  climb  yet  higher,  and 
fears  that  being  overbold  he  is  likely  to  fall.  This  must  seem  a 
dark  saying  to  those  who  have  never  studied  the  manners  and 
customs  of  cities  divided  into  the  upper  and  lower  town  ; 
wherefore  it  is  necessary  to  enter  here  upon  some  topographical 
details,  and  this  so  much  the  more  if  the  reader  is  to  compre- 
hend the  position  of  one  of  the  principal  characters  in  the 
story — Mme.  de  Bargeton. 

The  old  city  of  Angouldme  is  perched  aloft  on  a  crag  like 
a  sugar-loaf,  overlooking  the  plain  where  the  Charente  winds 
away  through  the  meadows.  The  crag  is  an  outlying  spur  on 
the  P6rigord  side  of  a  long,  low  ridge  of  hill,  which  termin- 
ates abruptly  just  above  the  road  from  Paris  to  Bordeaux,  so 
that  the  Rock  of  Angoul&me  is  a  sort  of  promontory  marking 
out  the  lines  of  three  picturesque  valleys.  The  ramparts  and 
great  gateways  and  ruined  fortress  on  the  summit  of  the  crag 
still  remain  to  bear  witness  to  the  importance  of  this  strong- 
hold during  the  Religious  Wars,  when  AngoulSme  was  a  mili- 
tary position  coveted  alike  of  Catholics  and  Calvinists,  but 
its  old-world  strength  is  a  source  of  weakness  in  modern  days ; 
Angoulfime  could  not  spread  down  to  the  Charente,  and,  shut 
in  between  its  ramparts  and  the  steep  sides  of  the  crag,  the 
old  town  is  condemned  to  stagnation  of  the  most  fatal  kind. 

The  government  made  an  attempt  about  this  very  time  to 
extend  the  town  toward  Perigord,  building  a  prefecture,  a 
naval  school,  and  barracks  along  the  hillside,  and  opening  up 
roads.  But  private  enterprise  had  been  beforehand  elsewhere. 
For  some  time  past  the  suburb  of  L'Houmeau  had  sprung  up, 
a  mushroom  growth  at  the  foot  of  the  crag  and  along  the  river- 
side, where  the  direct  road  runs  from  Paris  to  Bordeaux. 
Everybody  has  heard  of  the  great  paper-mills  of  Angouleme, 
established  perforce  three  hundred  years  ago  on  the  Charente 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  35 

and  its  branch  streams,  where  there  was  a  sufficient  fall  of 
water.  The  largest  State  factory  of  marine  ordnance  in  France 
was  established  at  Ruelle,  some  six  miles  away.  Carriers, 
wheelwrights,  post-houses,  and  inns,  every  agency  for  public 
conveyance,  every  industry  that  lives  by  road  or  river,  were 
crowded  together  in  Lower  Angouleme,  to  avoid  the  difficulty 
of  the  ascent  of  the  hill.  Naturally,  too,  tanneries,  laundries, 
and  all  such  waterside  trades  stood  within  reach  of  the  Char- 
ente ;  and  along  the  banks  of  the  river  lay  the  stores  of  brandy 
and  great  warehouses  full  of  the  water-borne  raw  material ;  all 
the  carrying  trade  of  the  Charente,  in  short,  had  lined  the 
quays  with  buildings. 

So  the  suburb  of  L'Houmeau  grew  into  a  busy  and  pros- 
perous city,  a  second  Angouleme,  rivaling  the  upper  town,  the 
residence  of  the  powers  that  be,  the  lords  spiritual  and  tem- 
poral of  Angouleme ;  though  L'Houmeau,  with  all  its  busi- 
ness and  increasing  greatness,  was  still  a  mere  appendage  of 
the  city  above.  The  noblesse  and  officialdom  dwelt  on  the 
crag,  trade  and  wealth  remained  below.  No  love  is  lost 
between  these  two  sections  of  the  community  all  the  world 
over,  and  in  Angouleme  it  would  have  been  hard  to  say  which 
of  the  two  camps  detested  the  other  the  more  cordially. 
Under  the  Empire  the  machinery  worked  fairly  smoothly,  but 
the  Restoration  wrought  both  sides  to  the  highest  pitch  of 
exasperation. 

Nearly  every  house  in  the  upper  town  of  Angouleme  is  in- 
habited by  noble,  or  at  any  rate  by  old  burgher,  families,  who 
live  independently  on  their  incomes — a  sort  of  autochthonous 
nation  who  suffer  no  aliens  to  come  among  them.  Possibly, 
after  two  hundred  years  of  unbroken  residence,  and  it  may  be 
an  intermarriage  or  two  with  one  of  the  primordial  houses,  a 
family  from  some  neighboring  district  may  be  adopted,  but  in 
the  eyes  of  the  aboriginal  race  they  are  still  new-comers  of 
yesterday. 

Prefects,  receivers-general,  and  various  administrations  that 


36  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

have  come  and  gone  during  the  last  forty  years  have  tried  to 
tame  the  ancient  families  perched  aloft  like  wary  ravens  on 
their  crag;  the  said  families  were  always  willing  to  accept 
invitations  to  dinners  and  dances;  but  as  to  admitting  the 
strangers  to  their  own  houses,  they  were  inexorable.  Ready 
to  scoff  and  disparage,  jealous  and  niggardly,  marrying  only 
among  themselves,  the  families  formed  a  serried  phalanx  to 
keep  out  intruders.  Of  modern  luxury  they  had  no  notion  ; 
and  as  for  sending  a  boy  to  Paris,  it  was  sending  him,  they 
thought,  to  certain  ruin.  Such  sagacity  will  give  a  sufficient 
idea  of  the  old-world  manners  and  customs  of  this  society, 
suffering  from  thick-headed  royalism,  infected  with  bigotry 
rather  than  zeal,  all  stagnating  together,  motionless  as  their 
town  founded  upon  the  rock.  Yet  Angouleme  enjoyed  a  great 
reputation  in  the  provinces  round  about  for  its  educational 
advantages  and  neighboring  towns  sent  their  daughters  to  its 
boarding-schools  and  convents. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  the  influence  of  the  class  sentiment 
which  held  Angouleme  aloof  from  L'  Houmeau.  The  merchant 
classes  are  rich,  the  noblesse  are  usually  poor.  Each  side 
takes  its  revenge  in  scorn  of  the  other.  The  tradespeople  in 
Angouleme  espouse  the  quarrel.  "  He  is  a  man  of  L' Hou- 
meau !  "  a  shopkeeper  of  the  upper  town  will  tell  you,  speaking 
of  a  merchant  in  the  lower  suburb,  throwing  an  accent  into 
the  speech  which  no  words  can  describe.  When  the  Restora- 
tion denned  the  position  of  the  French  noblesse,  holding  out 
hopes  to  them  which  could  only  be  realized  by  a  complete 
and  general  topsy-turvydom ;  the  distance  between  Angou- 
leme and  L' Houmeau,  already  more  strongly  marked  than 
the  distance  between  the  hill  and  plain,  was  widened  yet  further. 
The  better  families,  all  devoted  as  one  man  to  the  govern- 
ment, grew  more  exclusive  here  than  in  any  other  part  of 
France.  "The  man  of  L'Houmeau"  became  little  better 
than  a  pariah.  Hence  the  deep,  smothered  hatred  which 
broke  out  everywhere  with  such  ugly  unanimity  in  the  insur- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  87 

rection  of  1830  and  destroyed  the  elements  of  a  durable 
social  system  in  France.  As  the  overweening  haughtiness  of 
the  court  nobles  detached  the  provincial  noblesse  from  the 
throne,  so  did  these  last  alienate  the  bourgeoisie  from  the  royal 
cause  by  behavior  that  galled  their  vanity  in  every  possible 
way. 

So  "a  man  of  L'Houmeau,"  a  druggist's  son,  in  Madame 
de  Bargeton's  house  was  nothing  less  than  a  little  revolution. 
Who  was  responsible  for  it  ?  Lamartine  and  Victor  Hugo, 
Casimir  Delavigne  and  Canalis,  Beranger  and  Chateaubriand, 
Villemain  and  M.  Aignan,  Soumet  and  Tissot,  Etienne  and 
Davrigny,  Benjamin  Constant  and  Lamennais,  Cousin  and 
Michaud — all  the  old  and  young  illustrious  names  in  literature 
in  short,  Liberals  and  Royalists,  alike  must  divide  the  blame 
among  them.  Madame  de  Bargeton  loved  art  and  letters, 
eccentric  taste  on  her  part,  a  craze  deeply  deplored  in  Angou- 
le'me.  In  justice  to  the  lady  it  is  necessary  to  give  a  sketch 
of  the  previous  history  of  a  woman  born  to  shine,  and  left 
by  unlucky  circumstances  in  the  shade,  a  woman  whose  influ- 
ence decided  Lucien's  career. 

Monsieur  de  Bargeton  was  the  great-grandson  of  an  alder- 
man of  Bordeaux  named  Mirault,  ennobled  under  Louis  XIII. 
for  long  tenure  of  office.  His  son,  bearing  the  name  of 
Mirault  de  Bargeton,  became  an  officer  in  the  household 
troops  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  married  so  great  a  fortune  that  in 
the  reign  of  Louis  XV.  his  son  dropped  the  Mirault  and  was 
called  simply  Monsieur  de  Bargeton.  This  Monsieur  de  Barge- 
ton,  the  alderman's  grandson,  lived  up  to  his  quality  so  stren- 
uously that  he  ran  through  the  family  property  and  checked 
the  course  of  its  fortunes.  Two  of  his  brothers  indeed,  great- 
uncles  of  the  present  Bargeton,  went  into  business  again,  for 
which  reason  you  will  find  the  name  of  Mirault  among  Bor- 
deaux merchants  to  this  day.  The  lands  of  Bargeton,  in 
Angoumois  in  the  barony  of  Rochefoucauld,  being  entailed, 
and  the  house  in  Angoule~me,  called  the  H6tel  Bargeton, 


38  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

likewise,  the  grandson  of  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  the  Waster, 
came  in  for  these  hereditaments ;  though  the  year  1 789  de- 
prived him  of  all  seignorial  rights  save  to  the  rents  paid  by 
his  tenants,  which  amounted  to  some  ten  thouand  francs  per 
annum.  If  his  grandsire  had  but  walked  in  the  ways  of  his 
illustrious  progenitors,  Bargeton  I.  and  Bargeton  II.,  Barge- 
ton  V.  (who  may  be  dubbed  Bargeton  the  Mute  by  way  of 
distinction)  should  by  rights  have  been  born  to  the  title  of 
Marquis  of  Bargeton ;  he  would  have  been  connected  with 
some  great  family  or  other,  and  in  due  time  he  had  been  a 
duke  and  a  peer  of  France,  like  many  another  ;  whereas,  in 
1805,  he  thought  himself  uncommonly  lucky  when  he  married 
Mademoiselle  Maria-Louise-AnaTs  de  Negrepelisse,  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  noble  long  relegated  to  the  obscurity  of  his  manor- 
house,  scion  though  he  was  of  the  younger  branch  of  one  of 
the  oldest  families  in  the  south  of  France.  There  had  been 
a  Negrepelisse  among  the  hostages  of  St.  Louis.  The  head 
of  the  elder  branch,  however,  had  borne  the  illustrious  name 
of  d'Espard  since  the  reign  of  Henri  Quatre,  when  the  Ne- 
grepelisse of  that  day  married  an  heiress  of  the  d'Espard 
family.  As  for  Monsieur  de  Negrepelisse,  the  younger  son  of 
a  younger  son,  he  lived  upon  his  wife's  property,  a  small 
estate  in  the  neighborhood  of  Barbezieux,  farming  the  land 
to  admiration,  selling  his  corn  in  the  market  himself  and  dis- 
tilling his  own  brandy,  laughing  at  those  who  ridiculed  him, 
so  long  as  he  could  pile  up  silver  crowns,  and  now  and  again 
round  out  his  estate  with  another  bit  of  land. 

Circumstances  unusual  enough  in  out-of-the-way  places  in 
the  country  had  inspired  Mme.  de  Bargeton  with  a  taste  for 
music  and  reading.  During  the  revolution  one  Abb6  Niollant, 
the  Abb£  Roze's  best  pupil,  found  a  hiding-place  in  the  old 
manor-house  of  Escarbas,  and  brought  with  him  his  baggage 
of  musical  compositions.  The  old  country  gentleman's  hos- 
pitality was  handsomely  repaid,  for  the  abb£  undertook  his 
daughter's  education.  Ana'is,  or  NaYs,  as  she  was  called,  must 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  39 

otherwise  have  been  left  to  herself,  or,  worse  still,  to  some 
coarse-minded  servant-maid.  The  abbe  was  not  only  a  musi- 
cian, he  was  well  and  widely  read,  and  knew  both  Italian  and 
German ;  so  Mile,  de  Negrepelisse  received  instruction  in 
those  tongues,  as  well  as  in  counterpoint.  He  explained  the 
great  masterpieces  of  the  French,  German,  and  Italian  litera- 
tures, and  deciphered  with  her  the  music  of  the  great  com- 
posers. Finally,  as  time  hung  heavy  on  his  hands  in  the 
seclusion  enforced  by  political  storms,  he  taught  his  pupil 
Latin  and  Greek  and  some  smatterings  of  natural  science.  A 
mother  might  have  modified  the  effects  of  a  man's  education 
upon  a  young  girl,  whose  independent  spirit  had  been  fostered 
in  the  first  place  by  a  country  life.  The  Abbe  Niollant,  an 
enthusiast  and  a  poet,  possessed  the  artistic  temperament  in  a 
peculiarly  high  degree,  a  temperament  compatible  with  many 
estimable  qualities,  but  prone  to  raise  itself  above  middle-class 
prejudices  by  the  liberty  of  its  judgments  and  breadth  of  view. 
In  society  an  intellect  of  this  order  wins  pardon  for  its  bold- 
ness by  its  depth  and  originality ;  but  in  private  life  it  would 
seem  to  do  positive  mischief,  by  suggesting  wanderings  from 
the  beaten  track.  The  abb6  was  by  no  means  wanting  in 
goodness  of  heart,  and  his  ideas  were  therefore  the  more  con- 
tagious for  this  high-spirited  girl,  in  whom  they  were  confirmed 
by  a  lonely  life.  The  Abb£  Niollant's  pupil  learned  to  be 
fearless  in  criticism  and  ready  in  judgment ;  it  never  occurred 
to  her  tutor  that  qualities  so  necessary  in  a  man  are  disadvan- 
tages in  a  woman  destined  for  the  homely  life  of  a  housewife. 
And  though  the  abbe  constantly  impressed  it  upon  his  pupil 
that  it  behooved  her  to  be  the  more  modest  and  gracious  with 
the  extent  of  her  attainments,  Mile,  de  Negrepelisse  conceived 
an  excellent  opinion  of  herself  and  a  robust  contempt  for 
ordinary  humanity.  All  those  about  her  were  her  inferiors, 
or  persons  who  hastened  to  do  her  bidding,  until  she  grew  to 
be  as  haughty  as  a  great  lady,  with  none  of  the  charming 
blandness  and  urbanity  of  a  great  lady.  The  instincts  of 


40  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

vanity  were  flattered  by  the  pride  that  the  poor  abbe  took  in 
his  pupil,  the  pride  of  an  author  who  sees  himself  in  his  work, 
and  for  her  misfortune  she  met  no  one  with  whom  she  could 
measure  herself.  Isolation  is  one  of  the  greatest  drawbacks 
of  a  country  life.  We  lose  the  habit  of  putting  ourselves  to 
any  inconvenience  for  the  sake  of  others  when  there  is  no  one 
for  whom  to  make  the  trifling  sacrifices  of  personal  effort  re- 
quired by  dress  and  manner.  And  everything  in  us  shares  in 
the  change  for  the  worse ;  the  form  and  the  spirit  deteriorate 
together. 

With  no  social  intercourse  to  compel  self-repression,  Mile. 
de  Negrepelisse's  bold  ideas  passed  into  her  manner  and  the 
expression  of  her  face.  There  was  a  cavalier  air  about  her,  a 
something  that  seems  at  first  original  but  only  suited  to  women 
of  adventurous  life.  So  this  education,  and  the  consequent 
asperities  of  character,  which  would  have  been  softened  down 
in  a  higher  social  sphere,  could  only  serve  to  make  her  ridicu- 
lous at  Angouleme  so  soon  as  her  adorers  should  cease  to 
worship  eccentricities  that  charm  only  in  youth. 

As  for  M.  de  Negrepelisse,  he  would  have  given  all  his 
daughter's  books  to  save  the  life  of  a  sick  bullock  ;  and  so 
miserly  was  he  that  he  would  not  have  given  her  two  farthings 
over  and  above  the  allowance  to  which  she  had  a  right,  even 
if  it  had  been  a  question  of  some  indispensable  trifle  for  her 
education. 

In  1802  the  abb6  died,  before  the  marriage  of  his  dear 
child,  a  marriage  which  he,  doubtless,  would  never  have  ad- 
vised. The  old  father  found  his  daughter  a  great  care  now 
that  the  abb6  was  gone.  The  high-spirited  girl,  with  nothing 
else  to  do,  was  sure  to  break  into  rebellion  against  his  niggard- 
liness, and  he  felt  quite  unequal  to  the  struggle.  Like  all 
young  women  who  leave  the  appointed  track  of  woman's  life, 
Nais  had  her  own  opinions  about  marriage,  and  had  no  great 
inclination  thereto.  She  shrank  from  submitting  herself,  body 
and  soul,  to  the  feeble,  undignified  specimens  of  mankind 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  41 

whom  she  had  chanced  to  meet.  She  wished  to  rule,  mar- 
riage meant  obedience ;  and  between  obedience  to  coarse 
caprices  and  a  mind  without  indulgence  for  her  tastes,  and 
flight  with  a  lover  who  should  please  her,  she  would  not  have 
hesitated  for  a  moment. 

M.  de  Negrepelisse  maintained  sufficient  of  the  tradition  of 
birth  to  dread  a  mesalliance.  Like  many  another  parent,  he 
resolved  to  marry  his  daughter,  not  so  much  on  her  account 
as  for  his  own  peace  of  mind.  A  noble  or  a  country  gentle- 
man was  the  man  for  him,  somebody  not  too  clever,  incapable 
of  haggling  over  the  account  of  the  trust ;  stupid  enough  and 
easy  enough  to  allow  Nai's  to  have  her  own  way,  and  disin- 
terested enough  to  take  her  without  a  dowry.  But  where  to 
look  for  a  son-in-law  to  suit  father  and  daughter  equally  well 
was  the  problem.  Such  a  man  would  be  the  phoenix  of  sons- 
in-law. 

To  M.  de  Negrepelisse  pondering  over  the  eligible  bach- 
elors of  the  province  with  these  double  requirements  in  his 
mind,  M.  de  Bargeton  seemed  to  be  the  only  one  who  an- 
swered to  this  description.  M.  de  Bargeton,  aged  forty,  con- 
siderably shattered  by  the  amorous  dissipations  of  his  youth, 
was  generally  held  to  be  a  man  of  remarkably  feeble  intellect, 
but  he  had  just  the  exact  amount  of  commonsense  required  for 
the  management  of  his  fortune,  and  breeding  sufficient  to  en- 
able him  to  avoid  blunders  or  blatant  follies  in  the  society  of 
Angouleme.  In  the  bluntest  manner  M.  de  Negrepelisse 
pointed  out  the  negative  virtues  of  the  model  husband  de- 
signed for  his  daughter,  and  made  her  see  the  way  to  manage 
him  so  as  to  secure  her  own  happiness.  So  NaTs  married  the 
bearer  of  arms,  two  hundred  years  old  already,  for  the  Bar- 
geton's  arms  are  blazoned  thus  :  the  first  or,  three  attires  gules ; 
the  second,  three  ox's  heads  cabossed,  two  and  one,  sable ;  the 
third,  barry  of  six,  azure  and  argent,  in  the  first,  six  shells  or, 
three,  two,  and  one.  Provided  with  a  chaperon,  Na'i's  could 
steer  her  fortunes  as  she  chose  under  the  style  of  the  firm,  and 


42  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

with  the  help  of  such  connections  as  her  wit  and  beauty 
would  obtain  for  her  in  Paris.  NaVs  was  enchanted  by  the 
prospect  of  such  liberty.  M.  de  Bargeton  was  of  the  opinion 
that  he  was  making  a  brilliant  marriage,  for  he  expected  that 
in  no  long  time  M.  de  Negrepelisse  would  leave  him  the 
estates  which  he  was  rounding  out  so  lovingly ;  but  to  an  un- 
prejudiced spectator  it  certainly  seemed  as  though  the  duty  of 
writing  the  bridegroom's  epitaph  might  devolve  upon  his 
father-in-law. 

By  this  time  Mme.  de  Bargeton  was  thirty-six  years  old  and 
her  husband  fifty-eight.  The  disparity  in  age  was  the  more 
startling  since  M.  de  Bargeton  looked  like  a  man  of  seventy, 
whereas  his  wife  looked  scarcely  half  her  age.  She  could  still 
wear  rose-color  and  her  hair  hanging  loose  upon  her  shoulders. 
Although  their  income  did  not  exceed  twelve  thousand  francs, 
they  ranked  among  the  half-dozen  largest  fortunes  in  the  old 
city,  merchants  and  officials  excepted  ;  for  M.  and  Mme.  de 
Bargeton  were  obliged  to  live  in  AngoulSme  until  such  time 
as  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  inheritance  should  fall  in  and  they 
could  go  to  Paris.  Meanwhile  they  were  bound  to  be  atten- 
tive to  old  M.  de  Negrepelisse  (who  kept  them  waiting  so 
long  that  his  son-in-law  in  fact  predeceased  him),  and  Na'is' 
brilliant  intellectual  gifts,  and  the  wealth  that  lay  like  undis- 
covered ore  in  her  nature,  profited  her  nothing,  underwent  the 
transforming  operation  of  time,  and  changed  to  absurdities. 
For  our  absurdities  spring,  in  fact,  for  the  most  part,  from  the 
good  in  us,  from  some  faculty  or  quality  abnormally  devel- 
oped. Pride,  untempered  by  intercourse  with  the  great  world, 
becomes  stiff  and  starched  by  contact  with  petty  things ;  in  a 
loftier  moral  atmosphere  it  would  have  grown  to  noble  mag- 
nanimity. Enthusiasm,  that  virtue  within  a  virtue,  forming 
the  saint,  inspiring  the  devotion  hidden  from  all  eyes  and 
glowing  out  upon  the  world  in  verse,  turns  to  exaggeration, 
with  the  trifles  of  a  narrow  existence  for  its  object.  Far  away 
from  the  centres  of  light  shed  by  great  minds,  where  the  air  is 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  43 

quick  with  thought ;  knowledge  stands  still,  taste  is  corrupted 
like  stagnant  water,  and  passion  dwindles,  frittered  away  upon 
the  infinitely  small  objects  which  it  strives  to  exalt.  Herein 
lies  the  secret  of  the  avarice  and  tittle-tattle  that  poison  pro- 
vincial life.  The  contagion  of  narrow-mindedness  and  mean- 
ness affects  the  noblest  natures ;  and,  in  such  ways  as  these, 
men  born  to  be  great,  and  women  who  would  have  been 
charming  if  they  had  fallen  under  the  forming  influence  of 
greater  minds,  are  balked  of  their  lives. 

Here  was  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  for  instance,  smiting  the  lyre 
for  every  trifle,  and  publishing  her  emotions  indiscriminately 
to  her  circle.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  sensations  appeal  to 
an  audience  of  one,  it  is  better  to  keep  them  to  ourselves.  A 
sunset  certainly  is  a  glorious  poem  ;  but  if  a  woman  describes 
it,  in  high-sounding  words,  for  the  benefit  of  matter-of-fact 
people,  is  she  not  ridiculous  ?  There  are  pleasures  which  can 
only  be  felt  to  the  full  when  two  souls  meet,  poet  and  poet, 
heart  and  heart.  She  had  a  trick  of  using  high-sounding 
phrases,  interlarded  with  exaggerated  expressions,  the  kind  of 
stuff  ingeniously  nicknamed  tartines  by  the  French  journalist, 
who  furnishes  a  daily  supply  of  the  commodity  for  a  public 
that  daily  performs  the  difficult  feat  of  swallowing  it.  She 
squandered  superlatives  recklessly  in  her  talk,  and  the  smallest 
things  took  giant  proportions.  It  was  at  this  period  of  her 
career  that  she  began  to  type-ize,  individualize,  synthesize, 
dramatize,  superiorize,  analyze,  poetize,  angelize,  neologize, 
tragedify,  prosify,  and  colossify — one  must  violate  the  laws 
of  language  to  find  words  to  express  the  new-fangled  whim- 
sies in  which  even  women  here  and  there  indulge.  The 
heat  of  her  language  communicated  itself  to  the  brain, 
and  the  dithyrambs  on  her  lips  were  spoken  out  of  the 
abundance  of  her  heart.  She  palpitated,  swooned,  and  went 
into  ecstasies  over  anything  and  everything,  over  the  devo- 
tion of  a  sister  of  charity  and  the  execution  of  the  brothers 
Fauchet,  over  M.  d'Arlincourt's  "  IpsiboeV'  Lewis'  "Ana- 


44  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

conda,"  or  the  escape  of  La  Valletta,  or  the  presence  of  mind 
of  a  lady  friend  who  put  burglars  to  flight  by  imitating  a 
man's  voice.  Everything  was  heroic,  extraordinary,  strange, 
wonderful,  and  divine.  She  would  work  herself  into  a  state 
of  excitement,  indignation,  or  depression ;  she  soared  to 
heaven,  and  sank  again,  gazed  at  the  sky,  or  looked  to  earth; 
her  eyes  were  always  filling  with  tears.  She  wore  herself  out 
with  chronic  admiration,  and  wasted  her  strength  on  curious 
dislikes.  Her  mind  ran  on  the  Pasha  of  Janina ;  she  would 
have  liked  to  try  conclusions  with  him  in  his  seraglio,  and  had 
a  great  notion  of  being  sewn  in  a  sack  and  thrown  into  the 
water.  She  envied  that  blue-stocking  of  the  desert,  Lady 
Hester  Stanhope  ;  she  longed  to  be  a  sister  of  Saint  Camilla 
and  tend  the  sick  and  die  of  yellow  fever  in  a  hospital  at  Bar- 
celona; 'twas  a  high,  a  noble  destiny.  In  short,  she  thirsted 
for  any  draught  but  the  clear  spring  water  of  her  own  life, 
flowing  hidden  among  green  pastures.  She  adored  Byron  and 
Jean-Jacques  Rousseau,  or  anybody  else  with  a  picturesque  or 
dramatic  career.  Her  tears  were  ready  to  flow  for  every  mis- 
fortune ;  she  sang  paeans  for  every  victory.  She  sympathized 
with  the  fallen  Napoleon,  and  with  Mehemet  Ali,  massacring 
the  foreign  usurpers  of  Egypt.  In  short,  any  kind  of  genius 
was  accommodated  with  an  aureola,  and  she  was  fully  per- 
suaded that  gifted  immortals  lived  on  incense  and  light. 

A  good  many  people  looked  upon  her  as  a  harmless  lunatic, 
but  in  these  extravagances  of  hers  a  keener  observer  surely 
would  have  seen  the  broken  fragments  of  a  magnificent  edifice 
that  had  crumbled  into  ruin  before  it  was  completed,  the 
stones  of  a  heavenly  Jerusalem — love,  in  short,  without  a 
lover.  And  this  was,  indeed,  the  fact. 

The  story  of  the  first  eighteen  years  of  Mme.  de  Bargeton's 
married  life  can  be  summed  up  in  a  few  words.  For  a  long 
while  she  lived  upon  herself  and  distant  hopes.  Then,  when 
she  began  to  see  that  their  narrow  income  put  the  longed-for 
life  in  Paris  quite  out  of  the  question,  she  looked  about  her  at 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  45 

the  people  with  whom  her  life  must  be  spent  and  shuddered 
at  her  loneliness.  There  was  not  a  single  man  who  could  in- 
spire the  madness  to  which  women  are  prone  when  they 
despair  of  a  life  become  stale  and  unprofitable  in  the  present, 
and  with  no  outlook  for  the  future.  She  had  nothing  to  look 
for,  nothing  to  expect  from  chance — for  there  are  lives  in 
which  chance  plays  no  part.  But  when  the  Empire  was  in  the 
full  noonday  of  glory,  and  Napoleon  was  sending  the  flower 
of  his  troops  to  the  Peninsula,  her  disappointed  hopes  revived. 
Natural  curiosity  prompted  her  to  make  an  effort  to  see  the 
heroes  who  were  conquering  Europe  in  obedience  to  a  word 
from  the  Emperor  in  the  order  of  the  day ;  the  heroes  of  a 
modern  time  who  outdid  the  mythical  feats  of  paladins  of  old. 
The  cities  of  France,  however  avaricious  or  refractory,  must 
perforce  do  honor  to  the  Imperial  Guard,  and  mayors  and 
prefects  went  out  to  meet  them  with  set  speeches  as  if  the 
conquerors  had  been  crowned  kings.  Mme.  de  Bargeton  went 
to  a  ridotto  given  to  the  town  by  a  regiment,  and  fell  in  love 
with  an  officer  of  good  family,  a  sub-lieutenant,  to  whom  the 
crafty  Napoleon  had  given  a  glimpse  of  the  baton  of  a  marshal 
of  France.  Love,  restrained,  greater  and  nobler  than  the  ties 
that  were  made  and  unmade  so  easily  in  those  days,  was  con- 
secrated coldly  by  the  hands  of  death.  On  the  battlefield  of 
Wagram  a  shell  shattered  the  only  record  of  Mme.  de  Barge- 
ton's  young  beauty,  a  portait  worn  on  the  heart  of  the  Marquis 
of  Cante-Croix.  For  long  afterward  she  wept  for  the  young 
soldier,  the  colonel  in  his  second  campaign,  for  the  heart  hot 
with  love  and  glory  that  set  a  letter  from  NaYs  above  imperial 
favor.  The  pain  of  those  days  cast  a  veil  of  sadness  over  her 
face,  a  shadow  that  only  vanished  at  the  terrible  age  when 
a  woman  first  discovers  with  dismay  that  the  best  years  of 
her  life  are  over,  and  she  has  had  no  joy  of  them;  when  she 
sees  her  roses  wther,  and  the  longing  for  love  is  revived 
again  with  the  desire  to  linger  yet  for  a  little  on  the  last  smiles 
of  youth.  Her  nobler  qualities  dealt  so  many  wounds  to  her 


46  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

soul  at  the  moment  when  the  cold  of  the  provinces  seized 
upon  her.  She  would  have  died  of  grief  like  the  ermine  if 
by  chance  she  had  been  sullied  by  contact  with  those  men 
whose  thoughts  were  bent  on  winning  a  few  sous  nightly  at 
cards  after  a  good  dinner ;  pride  saved  her  from  the  shabby 
love  intrigues  of  the  provinces.  A  woman  so  much  above  the 
level  of  those  about  her,  forced  to  decide  between  the  empti- 
ness of  the  men  whom  she  meets  and  the  emptiness  of  her  own 
life,  can  but  make  the  one  choice  ;  marriage  and  society 
became  a  cloister  for  AnaTs.  She  lived  by  poetry  as  the  car- 
melite  lives  by  religion.  All  the  famous  foreign  books  pub- 
lished in  France  for  the  first  time  between  1815  and  1821,  the 
great  essayists,  M.  de  Bonald  and  M.  de  Maistre  (those  two 
eagles  of  thought) — all  the  lighter  French  literature,  in  short, 
that  appeared  during  that  sudden  outburst  of  first  vigorous 
growth  might  bring  delight  into  her  solitary  life,  but  not 
flexibility  of  mind  or  body.  She  stood  strong  and  straight 
like  some  forest  tree,  lightning-blasted  but  still  erect.  Her 
dignity  became  a  stilted  manner,  her  social  supremacy  led  her 
into  affectation  and  sentimental  over-refinements ;  she  queened 
it  with  her  foibles  after  the  usual  fashion  of  those  who  allow 
their  courtiers  to  adore  them. 

This  was  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  past  life,  a  dreary  chronicle 
which  must  be  given  if  Lucien's  position  with  regard  to  the 
lady  is  to  be  comprehensible.  Lucien's  introduction  came 
about  oddly  enough.  In  the  previous  winter  a  new-comer 
had  brought  some  interest  into  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  monoto- 
nous life.  The  place  of  comptroller  of  excise  fell  vacant,  and 
M.  de  Barante  appointed  a  man  whose  adventurous  life  was  a 
sufficient  passport  to  the  house  of  the  sovereign  lady  who  had 
her  share  of  feminine  curiosity. 

M.  du  Chfitelet — he  began  life  as  plain  Sixte  Chitelet,  but 
since  1806  had  the  wit  to  adopt  the  particle — M.  du  Chatelet 
was  one  of  the  agreeable  young  men  who  escaped  conscription 
after  conscription  by  keeping  very  close  to  the  Imperial  sun. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  47 

He  had  begun  his  career  as  private  secretary  to  an  imperial 
highness,  a  post  for  which  he  possessed  every  qualification. 
Personable  and  of  a  good  figure,  a  clever  billiard-player,  a  pass- 
able amateur  actor,  he  danced  well,  and  excelled  in  most 
physical  exercises;  he  could,  moreover,  sing  a  ballad  and  ap- 
plaud a  witticism.  Supple,  envious,  never  at  a  loss,  there  was 
nothing  that  he  did  not  know — nothing  that  he  really  knew. 
He  knew  nothing,  for  instance,  of  music,  but  he  could  sit  down 
to  the  piano  and  accompany,  after  a  fashion,  a  woman  who 
consented  after  much  pressing  to  sing  a  ballad  learned  by  heart 
in  a  month  of  hard  practice.  Incapable  though  he  was  of  any 
feeling  for  poetry,  he  would  boldly  ask  permission  to  retire 
for  ten  minutes  to  compose  an  impromptu,  and  return  with  a 
quatrain,  flat  as  a  pancake,  wherein  rhyme  did  duty  for  reason. 
M.  du  Ch^itelet  had  beside  a  very  pretty  talent  for  filling  in 
the  ground  of  the  Princess'  worsted  work  after  the  flowers 
had  been  begun ;  he  held  her  skeins  of  silk  with  infinite  grace, 
entertaining  her  with  dubious  nothings  more  or  less  trans- 
parently veiled.  He  was  ignorant  of  painting,  but  he  could 
copy  a  landscape,  sketch  a  head  in  profile,  or  design  a  cos- 
tume and  color  it.  He  had,  in  short,  all  the  little  talents 
that  a  man  could  turn  to  such  useful  account  in  times  when 
women  exercised  more  influence  in  public  life  than  most 
people  imagine.  Diplomacy  he  claimed  to  be  his  strong 
point ;  it  usually  is  with  those  who  have  no  knowledge  and 
are  profound  by  reason  of  their  emptiness ;  and,  indeed,  this 
kind  of  skill  possesses  one  signal  advantage,  for  it  can  only 
be  displayed  in  the  conduct  of  the  affairs  of  the  great,  and, 
when  discretion  is  the  quality  required,  a  man  who  knows 
nothing  can  safely  say  nothing,  and  take  refuge  in  a  mysteri- 
ous shake  of  the  head  ;  in  fact,  the  cleverest  practitioner  is  he 
who  can  swim  with  the  current  and  keep  his  head  well  above 
the  stream  of  events  which  he  appears  to  control,  a  man's  fit- 
ness for  this  business  varying  inversely  as  his  specific  gravity. 
But  in  this  particular  art  or  craft,  as  in  all  others,  you  will  find 


48  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

a  thousand  mediocrities  for  one  man  of  genius ;  and,  in  spite 
of  Chatelet's  services,  ordinary  and  extraordinary,  her  imperial 
highness  could  not  procure  a  seat  in  the  Privy  Council  for  her 
private  secretary ;  not  that  he  would  not  have  made  a  delight- 
ful master  of  requests,  like  many  another,  but  the  Princess  was 
of  the  opinion  that  her  secretary  was  better  placed  with  her 
than  anywhere  else  in  the  world.  He  was  made  a  Baron, 
however,  and  went  to  Cassel  as  envoy-extraordinary,  no  empty 
form  of  words,  for  he  cut  a  very  extraordinary  figure  there — 
Napoleon  used  him  as  a  diplomatic  courier  in  the  thick  of  a 
European  crisis.  Just  as  he  had  been  promised  the  post  of 
minister  to  Jerome  in  Westphalia,  the  Empire  fell  to  pieces ; 
and  balked  of  his  ambassadc  de  famille,  as  he  called  it,  he 
went  off  in  despair  to  Egypt  with  General  de  Montriveau. 
A  strange  chapter  of  accidents  separated  him  from  his  travel- 
ing companion,  and  for  two  long  years  Sixte  du  Chatelet  led 
a  wandering  life  among  the  Arab  tribes  of  the  desert,  who 
sold  and  resold  their  captive — his  talents  being  not  of  the 
slightest  use  to  the  nomad  tribes.  At  length,  about  the  time 
that  Montriveau  reached  Tangier,  Chatelet  found  himself  in 
the  territory  of  the  Imam  of  Muscat,  had  the  luck  to  find  an 
English  vessel  just  about  to  set  sail,  and  so  came  back  to  Paris 
a  year  sooner  than  his  sometime  companion.  Once  in  Paris, 
his  recent  misfortunes  and  certain  connections  of  long  stand- 
ing, together  with  services  rendered  to  great  persons  now  in 
power,  recommended  him  to  the  president  of  the  Council, 
who  put  him  in  M.  de  Barante's  department  until  such  time 
as  a  comptrollership  should  fall  vacant.  So  the  part  that  M. 
du  Ch§.telet  once  had  played  in  the  history  of  an  imperial 
princess,  his  reputation  for  success  with  women,  the  strange 
story  of  his  travels  and  sufferings,  all  awakene4  the  interest 
of  the  ladies  of  AngoulSme. 

M.  le  Baron  Sixte  du  Chatelet  informed  himself  as  to  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  upper  town,  and  took  his  cue 
accordingly.  He  appeared  on  the  scene  as  a  jaded  man  of 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  49 

the  world,  broken  in  health  and  weary  in  spirit.  He  would 
raise  his  hand  to  his  forehead  at  all  seasons,  as  if  pain  never 
gave  him  a  moment's  respite,  a  habit  that  recalled  his  travels 
and  made  him  interesting.  He  was  on  visiting  terms  with 
the  authorities — the  general  in  command,  the  prefect,  the 
receiver-general,  and  the  bishop;  but  in  every  house  he 
was  frigid,  polite,  and  slightly  supercilious,  like  a  man  out  of 
his  proper  place  awaiting  the  favors  of  power.  His  social 
talents  he  left  to  conjecture,  nor  did  they  lose  anything  in 
reputation  on  that  account ;  then  when  people  began  to  talk 
about  him  and  wish  to  know  him,  and  curiosity  was  still  lively; 
when  he  had  reconnoitred  the  men  and  found  them  naught, 
and  studied  the  women  with  the  eyes  of  experience  in  the 
cathedral  for  several  Sundays,  he  saw  that  Mme.  de  Bargeton 
was  the  person  with  whom  it  would  be  best  to  be  on  intimate 
terms.  Music,  he  thought,  should  open  the  doors  of  a  house 
where  strangers  were  never  received.  Surreptitiously  he  pro- 
cured one  of  Miroir's  masses,  learned  it  upon  the  piano ;  and 
one  fine  Sunday  when  all  Angouldme  went  to  the  cathedral,  he 
played  the  organ,  sent  those  who  knew  no  better  into  ecstasies 
over  the  performance,  and  stimulated  the  interest  felt  in  him  by 
allowing  his  name  to  slip  out  through  the  attendants.  As  he 
came  out  after  mass,  Mme.  de  Bargeton  complimented  him, 
regretting  that  she  had  had  no  opportunity  of  playing  duets 
with  such  a  musician  ;  and  naturally,  during  an  interview  of 
her  own  seeking,  he  received  the  passport,  which  he  could  not 
have  obtained  if  he  had  asked  for  it. 

So  the  adroit  Baron  was  admitted  to  the  circle  of  the  queen 
of  Angouleme,  and  paid  her  marked  attention.  The  elderly 
beau — he  was  forty-five  years  old — saw  that  all  her  youth  lay 
dormant  and  ready  to  revive,  saw  treasures  to  be  turned  to 
account,  and  possibly  a  rich  widow  to  wed,  to  say  nothing 
of  expectations  ;  it  would  be  a  marriage  into  the  family  of 
Negrepelisse,  and  for  him  this  meant  a  family  connection  with 
the  Marquise  d'Espard  and  a  political  career  in  Paris.  Here 
4 


60  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

was  a  fair  tree  to  cultivate  in  spite  of  the  ill-omened,  unsightly 
mistletoe  that  grew  thick  upon  it ;  he  would  hang  his  fortunes 
upon  it,  and  prune  it,  and  wait  till  he  could  gather  its  golden 
fruit. 

High-born  Angoulgme  shrieked  against  the  introduction  of 
a  Giaour  into  the  sanctuary,  for  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  salon 
was  a  kind  of  holy  of  holies  in  a  society  that  kept  itself  un- 
spotted from  the  world.  The  only  outsider  intimate  there 
was  the  bishop ;  the  prefect  was  admitted  twice  or  thrice  in 
the  year,  the  receiver-general  was  never  received  at  all ;  Mme. 
de  Bargeton  would  go  to  concerts  and  "at  homes"  at  his 
house,  but  she  never  accepted  invitations  to  dinner.  And 
now  she,  who  had  declined  to  open  her  doors  to  the  receiver- 
general,  welcomed  a  mere  comptroller  of  excise  !  Here  was  a 
novel  order  of  precedence  for  snubbed  authority;  such  a  thing 
it  had  never  entered  their  minds  to  conceive. 

Those  who  by  dint  of  mental  effort  can  understand  a  kind 
of  pettiness  which,  for  that  matter,  can  be  found  on  any  and 
every  social  level,  will  realize  the  awe  with  which  the  bour- 
geoisie ofAngoulgme  regarded  the  Hotel  de  Bargeton.  The 
inhabitant  of  L'Houmeau  beheld  the  grandeur  of  that  minia- 
ture Louvre,  the  glory  of  the  Angoumoisin  H6tel  de  Rambouil- 
let,  shining  at  a  solar  distance ;  and  yet  within  it  there  was 
gathered  together  all  the  direst  intellectual  poverty,  all  the 
decayed  gentility  from  twenty  leagues  round  about. 

Political  opinion  expanded  itself  in  wordy  commonplaces 
vociferated  with  emphasis;  the  "  Quotidienne "  was  com- 
paratively Laodicean  in  its  loyalty,  and  Louis  XVIII.  a  Jaco- 
bin. The  women,  for  the  most  part,  were  awkward,  silly, 
insipid,  and  ill-dressed  ;  there  was  always  something  amiss 
that  spoiled  the  whole  ;  nothing  in  them  was  complete,  toilet 
or  talk,  flesh  or  spirit.  But  for  his  designs  on  Mme.  de  Barge- 
ton,  Chatelet  could  not  have  endured  the  society.  And  yet 
the  manners  and  spirit  of  caste,  the  something  that  tells  of 
birth,  the  proud  spirit  of  the  noble  in  his  ruined  manor-house, 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  51 

the  knowledge  of  the  traditions  of  good  breeding — these  things 
covered  a  multitude  of  deficiencies.  Nobility  of  feeling  was 
far  more  real  here  than  in  the  lofty  world  of  Paris.  You 
might  compare  these  country  Royalists,  if  the  metaphor  may 
be  allowed,  to  old-fashioned  silver-plate,  antiquated  and  tarn- 
nished,  but  weighty ;  their  attachment  to  the  House  of  Bour- 
bon as  the  House  of  Bourbon  did  them  honor.  The  very 
fixity  of  their  political  opinions  was  a  sort  of  faithfulness. 
The  distance  that  they  set  between  themselves  and  the  bour- 
geoisie, their  very  exclusiveness,  gave  them  a  certain  elevation, 
and  enhanced  their  value.  Each  noble  represented  a  certain 
price  for  the  townsmen,  as  Bambara  negroes,  we  are  told, 
attach  a  money  value  to  cowrie  shells. 

Some  of  the  women,  flattered  by  M.  du  Chatelet,  discerned 
in  him  the  superior  qualities  lacking  in  the  men  of  their  own 
set,  and  the  insurrection  of  self-love  was  pacified.  These 
ladies  all  hoped  to  succeed  to  the  imperial  highness.  Purists 
were  of  the  opinion  that  you  might  see  the  intruder  in  Mme. 
de  Bargeton's  house,  but  not  elsewhere.  Du  Chatelet  was 
fain  to  put  up  with  a  good  deal  of  insolence,  but  he  held  his 
ground  by  cultivating  the  clergy.  He  encouraged  the  queen 
of  Angouleme  in  foibles  bred  of  the  soil  ;  he  brought  her  all 
the  newest  books  ;  he  read  aloud  the  poetry  that  appeared. 
Together  they  went  into  ecstasies  over  these  poets,  she  in  all 
sincerity,  he  with  suppressed  yawns  ;  but  he  bore  with  the 
Romantics  with  a  patience  hardly  to  be  expected  of  a  man  of 
the  Imperial  school,  who  scarcely  could  make  out  what  the 
young  writers  meant.  Not  so  Mme.  de  Bargeton  ;  she  waxed 
enthusiastic  over  the  renaissance,  due  to  the  return  of  the 
Bourbon  lilies  ;  she  loved  M.  de  Chateaubriand  for  calling 
Victor  Hugo  "a  sublime  child."  It  depressed  her  that  she 
could  only  know  genius  from  afar,  she  sighed  for  Paris,  where 
great  men  live.  For  these  reasons  M.  du  Chatelet  thought  he 
had  done  a  wonderfully  clever  thing  when  he  told  the  lady 
that  there,  at  that  moment,  in  Angouleme  there  was  "  another 


52  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

sublime  child,"  a  young  poet,  a  rising  star  whose  glory  sur- 
passed the  whole  Parisian  galaxy,  though  he  knew  it  not.  A 
great  man  of  the  future  had  been  born  in  L'Houmeau  !  The 
headmaster  of  the  school  had  shown  the  Baron  some  admirable 
verses.  The  poor  and  humble  lad  was  a  second  Chatterton, 
with  none  of  the  political  baseness  and  ferocious  hatred  of  the 
great  ones  of  earth  that  led  his  English  prototype  to  turn 
pamphleteer  and  revile  his  benefactors.  Mme.  de  Bargeton 
in  her  little  circle  of  five  or  six  persons,  who  were  supposed 
to  share  her  tastes  for  art  and  letters,  because  this  one  scraped 
a  fiddle,  and  that  splashed  sheets  of  white  paper,  more  or  less, 
with  sepia,  and  the  other  was  president  of  a  local  agricultural 
society,  or  was  gifted  with  a  bass  voice  that  rendered  Se  fiato 
in  corpo  like  a  war  whoop — Mme.  de  Bargeton  amid  these 
grotesque  figures  was  like'  a  famished  actor  set  down  to  a 
stage  dinner  of  pasteboard.  No  words,  therefore,  can  de- 
scribe her  joy  at  these  tidings.  She  must  see  this  poet,  this 
angel !  She  raved  about  him,  went  into  raptures,  talked  of 
him  for  whole  hours  together.  Before  two  days  were  out  the 
sometime  diplomatic  courier  had  negotiated  (through  the  high- 
school  headmaster)  for  Lucien's  appearance  in  the  Hotel  de 
Bargeton. 

Poor  helots  of  the  provinces,  for  whom  the  distances  be- 
tween class  and  class  are  so  far  greater  than  for  the  Parisian 
(for  whom,  indeed,  these  distances  visibly  lessen  day  by  day); 
souls  so  grievously  oppressed  by  the  social  barriers  behind 
which  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  sit  crying  Raca!  with 
mutual  anathemas — you,  and  you  alone,  will  fully  comprehend 
the  ferment  in  Lucien's  heart  and  brain,  when  his  awe-inspir- 
ing headmaster  told  him  that  the  great  gates  of  the  H6tel  de 
Bargeton  would  shortly  open  and  turn  upon  their  hinges  at 
his  fame  !  Lucien  and  David,  walking  together  of  an  even- 
ing in  the  Promenade  de  Beaulieu,  had  looked  up  at  the 
house  with  the  old-fashioned  gables,  and  wondered  whether 
their  names  would  ever  so  much  as  reach  ears  inexorably  deaf 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  53 

to  knowledge  that  came  from  a  lowly  origin ;  and  now  he 
(Lucien)  was  to  be  made  welcome  there  ! 

No  one  except  his  sister  was  in  the  secret.  Eve,  like  the 
thrifty  housekeeper  and  divine  magician  that  she  was,  con- 
jured up  a  few  louis  d'or  from  her  savings  to  buy  thin  shoes 
for  Lucien  of  the  best  shoemaker  in  Angouleme,  and  an  en- 
tirely new  suit  of  clothes  from  the  most  renowned  tailor. 
She  made  a  frill  for  his  best  shirt,  and  washed  and  pleated  it 
with  her  own  hands.  And  how  pleased  she  was  to  see  him  so 
dressed  !  How  proud  she  felt  of  her  brother,  and  what  quan- 
tities of  advice  she  gave  him  !  Her  intuition  foresaw  countless 
foolish  fears.  Lucien  had  a  habit  of  resting  his  elbows  on 
the  table  when  he  was  deep  in  thought ;  he  would  even  go  so 
far  as  to  draw  a  table  nearer  to  lean  upon  it ;  Eve  told  him 
that  he  must  not  forget  himself  so  far  in  those  aristocratic  pre- 
cincts. 

She  went  with  him  as  far  as  St.  Peter's  Gate,  and  when 
they  were  almost  opposite  the  cathedral  she  stopped,  and 
watched  him  pass  down  the  Rue  de  Beaulieu  to  the  prome- 
nade, where  M.  du  Chatelet  was  waiting  for  him.  And  after 
he  was  out  of  sight  she  still  stood  there,  poor  girl !  in  a 
great  tremor  of  emotion,  as  though  some  great  thing  had 
happened  to  them.  Lucien  in  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  house ! 
— for  Eve  it  meant  the  dawn  of  success.  The  innocent  crea- 
ture did  not  suspect  that  where  ambition  begins  ingenuous 
feeling  ends. 

Externals  in  the  Rue  du  Minage  gave  Lucien  no  sense  of 
surprise.  This  palace,  that  loomed  so  large  in  his  imagina- 
tion, was  a  house  built  of  a  soft  stone  of  the  country,  mellowed 
by  time.  It  looked  dismal  enough  from  the  street,  and  inside 
it  was  extremely  plain  ;  there  was  the  usual  provincial  court- 
yard— chilly,  prim,  and  neat ;  and  the  house  itself  was  sober, 
almost  convent-like,  but  in  good  repair. 

Lucien  went  up  the  old  staircase  with  the  balustrade  of 
chestnut-wood  (the  stone  steps  ceased  after  the  second  floor), 


54  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

crossed  a  shabby  antechamber,  and  came  into  the  presence  In 
a  little  wainscoted  drawing-room,  beyond  a  dimly  lit  salon. 
The  carved  woodwork,  in  the  taste  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
had  been  painted  gray.  There  were  monochrome  paintings 
on  the  frieze  panels,  and  the  walls  were  adorned  with  crimson 
damask  with  a  meagre  border.  The  old-fashioned  furniture 
shrank  piteously  from  sight  under  covers  of  a  red-and-white 
check  pattern.  On  a  sofa,  covered  with  thin  mattressed 
cushions,  sat  Mme.  de  Bargeton ;  the  poet  beheld  her  by  the 
light  of  two  wax-candles  on  a  sconce  with  a  screen  fitted  to  it 
that  stood  before  her  on  a  round  table  with  an  embroidered 
green  cloth. 

The  queen  did  not  attempt  to  rise,  but  she  twisted  very 
gracefully  on  her  seat,  smiling  on  the  poet,  who  was  not  a 
little  fluttered  by  the  serpentine  quiverings ;  her  manner  was 
distinguished,  he  thought'  For  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  she  was 
impressed  with  Lucien's  extreme  beauty,  with  his  diffidence, 
with  everything  about  him ;  for  her  the  poet  already  was 
poetry  incarnate.  Lucien  scrutinized  his  hostess  with  discreet 
side-glances ;  she  disappointed  none  of  his  expectations  of  a 
great  lady. 

Mme.  de  Bargeton,  following  a  new  fashion,  wore  a  coif  of 
slashed  black  velvet,  a  head-dress  that  recalls  memories  of 
mediaeval  legend  to  a  young  imagination,  to  amplify,  as  it 
were,  the  dignity  of  womanhood.  Her  red-gold  hair,  escaping 
from  under  her  cap,  hung  loose ;  bright  golden  color  in  the 
light,  red  in  the  rounded  shadow  of  the  curls  that  only  par- 
tially hid  her  neck.  Beneath  a  massive,  white  brow,  clean  cut 
and  strongly  outlined,  shone  a  pair  of  bright  gray  eyes  encir- 
cled by  a  margin  of  mother-of-pearl,  two  blue  veins  on  either 
side  of  the  nose  bringing  out  the  whiteness  of  that  delicate 
setting.  The  Bourbon  curve  of  the  nose  added  to  the  ardent 
expression  of  an  oval  face  ;  it  was  as  if  the  royal  temper  of  the 
House  of  Conde  shone  conspicuous  in  this  feature.  The  care- 
less cross-folds  of  the  bodice  left  a  white  throat  bare  and  half 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  55 

revealed  the  outlines  of  a  still  youthful  figure  and  shapely, 
well-placed  contours  beneath. 

With  fingers  tapering  and  well-kept,  though  somewhat  too 
thin,  Mme.  de  Bargeton  amiably  pointed  to  a  seat  by  her 
side,  M.  du  Chatelet  ensconced  himself  in  an  easy-chair,  and 
Lucien  then  became  aware  that  there  was  no  one  else  in  the 
room. 

Mme.  de  Bargeton's  words  intoxicated  the  young  poet  from 
L'Houmeau.  For  Lucien  those  three  hours  spent  in  her 
presence  went  by  like  a  dream  that  we  would  fain  have  last 
for  ever.  She  was  not  thin,  he  thought;  she  was  slender;  in 
love  with  love,  and  loverless ;  and  delicate  in  spite  of  her 
strength.  Her  foibles,  exaggerated  by  her  manner,  took  his 
fancy ;  for  youth  sets  out  with  a  love  of  hyperbole,  that  in- 
firmity of  noble  souls.  He  did  not  so  much  as  see  that  her 
cheeks  were  faded,  that  the  patches  of  color  on  the  cheek-bone 
were  faded  and  hardened  to  a  brick-red  by  listless  days  and  a 
certain  amount  of  ailing  health.  His  imagination  fastened  at 
once  on  the  glowing  eyes,  on  the  dainty  curl  rippling  with 
light,  on  the  dazzling  fairness  of  her  skin,  and  hovered  about 
those  bright  points  as  the  moth  hovers  about  the  candle-flame. 
For  her  spirit  made  such  appeal  to  his  that  he  could  no  longer 
see  the  woman  as  she  was.  Her  feminine  exaltation  had  car- 
ried him  away,  the  energy  of  her  expressions,  a  little  staled 
in  truth  by  pretty  hard  and  constant  wear,  but  new  to  Lucien, 
fascinated  him  so  much  the  more  easily  because  he  was  deter- 
mined to  be  pleased.  He  had  brought  none  of  his  own  verses 
to  read,  but  nothing  was  said  of  them  ;  he  had  purposely  left 
them  behind  because  he  meant  to  return  ;  and  Mme.  de  Barge- 
ton  did  not  ask  for  them,  because  she  meant  that  he  should 
come  back  some  future  day  to  read  them  to  her.  Was  not 
this  a  beginning  of  an  understanding? 

As  for  M.  Sixte  du  ChStelet,  he  was  not  over  well  pleased 
with  all  this.  He  perceived  rather  too  late  in  the  day  that  he 
had  a  rival  in  this  handsome  young  fellow.  He  went  with 


58  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

him  as  far  as  the  first  flight  of  steps  below  Beaulieu  to  try  the 
effect  of  a  little  diplomacy;  and  Lucien  was  not  a  little  aston- 
ished when  he  heard  the  comptroller  of  excise  pluming  him- 
self on  having  effected  the  introduction,  and  proceeding  in 
this  character  to  give  him  (Lucien)  the  benefit  of  his  advice. 

"  Heaven  send  that  Lucien  might  meet  with  better  treat- 
ment than  he  had  done,"  such  was  the  matter  of  M.  du 
Chdtelet's  discourse.  "  The  court  was  less  insolent  than  this 
pack  of  dolts  in  AngoulSme.  You  were  expected  to  endure 
deadly  insults ;  the  superciliousness  you  had  to  put  up  with  was 
something  abominable.  If  this  kind  of  folk  did  not  alter  their 
behavior,  there  would  be  another  revolution  of  '89.  As  for 
himself,  if  he  continued  to  go  to  the  house,  it  was  because  he 
found  Mme.  de  Bargeton  to  his  taste ;  she  was  the  only  woman 
worth  troubling  about  in  Angouleme ;  he  had  been  paying 
court  to  her  for  want  of  anything  better  to  do,  and  now  he 
was  desperately  in  love  with  her.  She  would  be  his  before 
very  long,  she  loved  him,  everything  pointed  that  way.  The 
conquest  of  this  haughty  queen  of  the  society  would  be  his 
one  revenge  on  the  whole  houseful  of  booby  clodpates." 

Chdtelet  talked  of  his  passion  in  the  tone  of  a  man  who 
would  have  a  rival's  life  if  he  crossed  his  path.  The  elderly 
butterfly  of  the  Empire  came  down  with  his  whole  weight  on 
the  poor  poet,  and  tried  to  frighten  and  crush  him  by  his  self- 
importance.  He  grew  the  taller  as  he  gave  an  embellished  ac- 
count of  his  perilous  wanderings ;  but  while  he  impressed  the 
poet's  imagination,  the  lover  was  by  no  means  afraid  of  him. 

In  spite  of  the  elderly  coxcomb,  and  regardless  of  his 
threats  and  airs  of  a  bourgeois  bravo,  Lucien  went  back  again 
and  again  to  the  house — not  too  often  at  first,  as  became  a 
man  of  L'Houmeau  ;  but  before  very  long  he  grew  accus- 
tomed to  the  vast  condescension,  as  it  had  seemed  to  him  at 
the  outset,  and  came  more  and  more  frequently.  The  drug- 
gist's son  was  a  completely  insignificant  being.  If  any  of  the 
noblesse,  men  or  women,  calling  upon  NaVs,  found  Lucien  in 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  57 

the  room,  they  met  him  with  the  overwhelming  graciousness 
that  well-bred  people  use  toward  their  inferiors.  Lucien 
thought  them  very  kind  for  a  time,  but  later  found  out  the 
real  reason  for  their  specious  amiability.  It  was  not  long 
before  he  detected  a  patronizing  tone  that  stirred  his  gall  and 
confirmed  him  in  his  bitter  republicanism,  a  phase  of  opinion 
through  which  many  a  would-be  patrician  passes  by  way  of 
prelude  to  his  introduction  to  polite  society. 

But  was  there  anything  that  he  would  not  have  endured  for 
Na'is? — for  so  he  heard  her  named  by  the  clan.^Like  Spanish 
grandees  and  the  old  Austrian  nobility  at  Vienna,  these  folk, 
men  and  women  alike,  called  each  other  by  their  Christian 
names,  a  final  shade  of  distinction  in  the  inmost  ring  of  An- 
goumoisin  aristocracy. 

Lucien  loved  NaVs  as  a  young  man  loves  the  first  woman 
who  flatters  him,  for  Na'is  prophesied  great  things  and  bound- 
less fame  for  Lucien.  She  used  all  her  skill  to  secure  her  hold 
upon  the  poet ;  not  merely  did  she  exalt  him  beyond  measure, 
but  she  represented  him  to  himself  as  a  child  without  fortune 
whom  she  meant  to  start  in  life  ;  she  treated  him  like  a  child, 
to  keep  him  near  her ;  she  made  him  her  reader,  her  secre- 
tary, and  cared  more  for  him  than  she  would  have  thought 
possible  after  the  dreadful  calamity  that  had  befallen  her. 

She  was  very  cruel  to  herself  in  those  days,  telling  herself 
that  it  would  be  folly  to  love  a  young  man  of  twenty,  so  far 
apart  from  her  socially  in  the  first  place ;  and  her  behavior 
to  him  was  a  bewildering  mixture  of  familiarity  and  capricious 
fits  of  pride  arising  from  her  fears  and  scruples.  She  was 
sometimes  a  lofty  patroness,  sometimes  she  was  tender  and 
flattered  him.  At  first,  while  he  was  overawed  by  her  rank, 
Lucien  experienced  the  extremes  of  dread,  hope,  and  despair, 
the  torture  of  a  first  love,  that  is  beaten  deep  into  the  heart 
with  hammer-strokes  of  alternate  bliss  and  anguish.  For  two 
months  Mme.  de  Bargeton  was  for  him  a  benefactress  who 
would  take  a  mother's  interest  in  him ;  but  confidences  came 


58  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

next.  Mme.  de  Bargeton  began  to  address  her  poet  as  "dear 
Lucien,"  and  then  as  "  dear  "  without  more  ado.  The  poet 
grew  bolder,  and  addressed  the  great  lady  as  Na'is,  and  there 
followed  a  flash  of  the  anger  that  captivates  a  boy ;  she  re- 
proached him  for  calling  her  by  a  name  in  everybody's  mouth. 
The  haughty  and  highborn  Negrepelisse  offered  the  fair  angel 
youth  that  one  of  her  appellations  which  was  unsoiled  by  use; 
for  him  she  would  be  "Louise."  Lucien  was  in  the  third 
heaven. 

One  evening  when  Lucien  came  in  he  found  Mme.  de 
Bargeton  looking  at  a  portrait,  which  she  promptly  put  away. 
He  wished  to  see  it,  and  to  quiet  the  despair  of  a  first  fit  of 
jealousy  Louise  showed  him  Cante-Croix's  picture,  and  told 
with  tears  the  piteous  story  of  a  love  so  stainless,  so  cruelly 
cut  short.  Was  she  experimenting  with  herself?  Was  she 
trying  a  first  unfaithfulness  to  the  memory  of  the  dead  ?  Or 
had  she  taken  it  into  her  head  to  raise  up  a  rival  to  Lucien 
in  the  portrait  ?  Lucien  was  too  much  of  a  boy  to  analyze 
his  lady-love ;  he  gave  way  to  unfeigned  despair  when  she 
opened  the  campaign  by  intrenching  herself  behind  the  more 
or  less  skillfully  devised  scruples  which  women  raise  to  have 
them  battered  down.  When  a  woman  begins  to  talk  about 
her  duty,  regard  for  appearances  or  religion,  the  objections 
she  raises  are  so  many  redoubts  which  she  loves  to  have  car- 
ried by  storm.  But  on  the  guileless  Lucien  these  coquetries 
were  thrown  away;  he  would  have  advanced  of  his  own 
accord. 

"/shall  not  die  for  you,  I  will  live  for  you,"  he  cried 
audaciously  one  evening ;  he  meant  to  have  no  more  of  M. 
de  Cante-Croix,  and  gave  Louise  a  glance  which  told  plainly 
that  a  crisis  was  at  hand. 

Startled  at  the  progress  of  this  new  love  in  herself  and  her 
poet,  Louise  demanded  some  verses  promised  for  the  first  page 
of  her  album,  looking  for  a  pretext  for  a  quarrel  in  his  tardi- 
ness. But  what  became  of  her  when  she  read  the  following 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  59 

stanzas,  which,  naturally,  she  considered  finer  than  the  finest 
work  of  Canalis,  the  poet  of  the  aristocracy  ? — 

"  The  magic  brush,  light  lying  flights  of  song — 
To  these,  but  not  to  these  alone,  belong 

My  pages  fair; 

Often  to  me,  my  mistress'  pencil  steals 
To  tell  the  secret  gladness  that  she  feels, 

The  hidden  care. 

"  And  when  her  fingers,  slowlier  at  the  last, 
Of  a  rich  Future,  now  become  the  Past, 

Seek  count  of  me, 
Oh  Love,  when  swift  thick  coming  memories  rise, 

I  pray  of  thee, 

May  they  bring  visions  fair  as  cloudless  skies 
Of  happy  voyage  o'er  a  summer  sea !  " 

"Was  it  really  I  who  inspired  those  lines?"  she  asked. 

The  doubt  suggested  by  coquetry  to  a  woman  who  amused 
herself  by  playing  with  fire  brought  tears  to  Lucien's  eyes ; 
but  her  first  kiss  upon  his  forehead  calmed  the  storm.  Decid- 
edly Lucien  was  a  great  man,  and  she  meant  to  form  him; 
she  thought  of  teaching  him  Italian  and  German  and  perfect- 
ing his  manners.  That  would  be  pretext  sufficient  for  having 
him  constantly  with  her  under  the  very  eyes  of  her  tiresome 
courtiers.  What  an  interest  in  her  life !  She  took  up  music 
again  for  her  poet's  sake,  and  revealed  the  world  of  sound  to 
him,  playing  grand  fragments  of  Beethoven  till  she  sent  him 
into  ecstasy ;  and,  happy  in  his  delight,  turned  to  the  half- 
swooning  poet. 

"  Is  not  such  happiness  as  this  enough?"  she  asked  hypo- 
critically ;  and  poor  Lucien  was  stupid  enough  to  answer, 
"Yes." 

In  the  previous  week  things  had  reached  such  a  point  that 
Louise  had  judged  it  expedient  to  ask  Lucien  to  dine  with 
M.  de  Bargeton  as  a  third.  But  in  spite  of  this  precaution, 


GO  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

the  whole  town  knew  the  state  of  affairs  ;  and  so  extraordinary 
did  it  appear  that  no  one  could  believe  the  truth.  The  outcry 
was  terrific.  Some  were  of  the  opinion  that  society  was  on 
the  eve  of  a  cataclysm.  "  See  what  comes  of  Liberal  doc- 
trines!" cried  others. 

Then  it  was  that  the  jealous  du  Ch&telet  discovered  that 
Madame  Charlotte,  the  monthly  nurse,  was  no  other  than 
Mme.  Chardon,  "  the  mother  of  the  Chateaubriand  of 
L'Houmeau,"  as  he  put  it.  The  remark  passed  muster  as  a 
joke.  Mme.  de  Chandour  was  the  first  to  hurry  to  Mme.  de 
Bargeton. 

"  NaTs,  dear,"  she  said,  "do  you  know  what  everybody  is 
talking  about  in  Angoule"me?  This  little  rhymester's  mother 
is  the  Madame  Charlotte  who  nursed  my  sister-in-law  through 
her  confinement  two  months  ago." 

"What  is  there  extraordinary  in  that,  my  dear?"  asked 
Mme.  de  Bargeton  with  her  most  regal  air.  "  She  is  a  drug- 
gist's widow,  is  $he  not?  A  poor  fate  for  a  RubemprS. 
Suppose  that  you  or  I  had  not  a  penny  in  the  world,  what 
should  we  either  of  us  do  for  a  living?  How  would  you  sup- 
port your  children  ?  " 

Mme.  de  Bargeton's  presence  of  mind  put  an  end  to  the 
jeremiads  of  the  noblesse.  Great  natures  are  prone  to  make 
a  virtue  of  misfortune;  and  there  is  something  irresistibly 
attractive  about  well-doing  when  persisted  in  through  evil 
report ;  innocence  has  the  piquancy  of  the  forbidden. 

Mme.  de  Bargeton's  rooms  were  crowded  that  evening  with 
friends  who  came  to  remonstrate  with  her.  She  brought  her 
most  caustic  wit  into  play.  She  said  that  as  noble  families 
could  not  produce  a  Moliere,  a  Racine,  a  Rousseau,  a  Vol- 
taire, a  Massillon,  a  Beaumarchais,  or  a  Diderot,  people  must 
make  up  their  minds  to  it,  and  accept  the  fact  that  great  men 
had  upholsterers  and  clockmakers  and  cutlers  for  their  fathers. 
She  said  that  genius  was  always  noble.  She  railed  at  boorish 
squires  for  understanding  their  real  interests  so  imperfectly. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  61 

In  short,  she  talked  a  good  deal  of  nonsense,  which  would 
have  let  the  light  into  heads  less  dense,  but  left  her  audience 
agape  at  her  eccentricity.  And  in  these  ways  she  conjured 
away  the  storm  with  her  heavy  artillery. 

When  Lucien,  obedient  to  her  request,  appeared  for  the  first 
time  in  the  faded  great  drawing-room,  where  the  whist-tables 
were  set  out,  she  welcomed  him  graciously,  and  brought  him 
forward,  like  a  queen  who  means  to  be  obeyed.  She  addressed 
the  comptroller  of  excise  as  "  Monsieur  Chitelet,"  and  left 
that  gentleman  thunderstruck  by  the  discovery  that  she  knew 
about  the  illegal  superfetation  of  the  particle.  Lucien  was 
forced  upon  her  circle,  and  was  received  as  a  poisonous  ele- 
ment, which  every  person  in  it  vowed  to  expel  with  the  anti- 
dote of  insolence. 

Nai's  had  won  a  victory,  but  she  had  lost  her  supremacy  of 
empire.  There  was  a  rumor  of  insurrection.  Amelie,  other- 
wise Mme.  de  Chandour,  hearkening  to  "  M.  ChStelet's " 
counsels,  determined  to  erect  a  rival  altar  by  receiving  on 
Wednesdays.  Now  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  salon  was  open  every 
evening;  and  those  who  frequented  it  were  so  wedded  to 
their  ways,  so  accustomed  to  meet  about  the  same  tables,  to 
play  the  familiar  game  of  backgammon,  to  see  the  same  faces 
and  the  same  candle  sconces  night  after  night ;  and  afterward 
to  cloak  and  shawl,  and  put  on  overshoes  and  hats  in  the  old, 
well-trodden  corridor,  that  they  were  quite  as  much  attached 
to  the  steps  of  the  staircase  as  to  the  mistress  of  the  house 
herself. 

"All  resigned  themselves  to  endure  the  songster"  (char- 
donnercf)  "  of  the  sacred  grove,"  said  Alexandre  de  Br£bian, 
which  was  witticism  number  two.  Finally,  the  president  of 
the  agricultural  society  put  an  end  to  the  sedition  by  remark- 
ing judicially  that  "before  the  revolution  the  greatest  nobles 
admitted  men  like  Duclos  and  Grimm  and  Crebillon  to  their 
society — men  who  were  nobodies,  like  this  little  poet  of 
L'Houmeau  ;  but  one  thing  they  never  did,  they  never  re- 


62  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

ceived  tax-collectors,  and,  after  all,  Chatelet  is  only  a  tax- 
collector." 

Du  Chatelet  suffered  for  Chardon.  Every  one  turned  the 
cold  shoulder  upon  him  ;  and  Chatelet  was  conscious  that  he 
was  attacked.  When  Mme.  de  Bargeton  called  him  "  Mon- 
sieur Chatelet,"  he  swore  to  himself  that  he  would  possess  her; 
and  now  he  entered  into  the  views  of  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
came  to  the  support  of  the  young  poet,  and  declared  himself 
Lucien's  friend.  The  great  diplomatist,  overlooked  by  the 
shortsighted  Emperor,  made  much  of  Lucien,  and  declared 
himself  his  friend  !  To  launch  the  poet  into  society,  he  gave 
a  dinner,  and  asked  all  the  authorities  to  meet  him — the  pre- 
fect, the  receiver-general,  the  colonel  in  command  of  the  gar- 
rison, the  head  of  the  naval  school,  the  president  of  the  court, 
and  so  forth.  The  poet,  poor  fellow,  was  f&ted  so  magnifi- 
cently, and  so  belauded,  that  anybody  but  a  young  man  of 
two-and-twenty  would  have  shrewdly  suspected  a  hoax.  After 
dinner,  Chatelet  drew  his  rival  on  to  recite  "  The  Dying  Sar- 
danapalus,"  the  masterpiece  of  the  hour;  and  the  headmaster 
of  the  school,  a  man  of  a  phlegmatic  temperament,  applauded 
with  both  hands,  and  vowed  that  Jean-Baptiste  Rousseau  had 
done  nothing  finer.  Sixte,  Baron  du  Chatelet,  thought  in 
his  heart  that  this  slip  of  a  rhymester  would  wither  inconti- 
nently in  a  hot-house  of  adulation  ;  perhaps  he  hoped  that, 
when  the  poet's  head  was  turned  with  brilliant  dreams,  he 
would  indulge  in  some  impertinence  that  would  promptly 
consign  him  to  the  obscurity  from  which  he  had  emerged. 
Pending  the  decease  of  genius,  Chatelet  appeared  to  offer  up 
his  hopes  as  a  sacrifice  at  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  feet ;  but  with 
the  ingenuity  of  a  rake,  he  kept  his  own  plan  in  abeyance, 
watching  the  lovers'  movements  with  keenly  critical  eyes,  and 
waiting  for  the  opportunity  of  ruining  Lucien. 

From  this  time  forward  vague  rumors  reported  the  exist- 
ence of  a  great  man  in  Angoumois.  Mme.  de  Bargeton  was 
praised  on  all  sides  for  the  interest  which  she  took  in  this 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  63 

young  eagle.  No  sooner  was  her  conduct  approved  than  she 
tried  to  win  a  general  sanction.  She  announced  a  soiree, 
with  ices,  tea,  and  cakes,  a  great  innovation  in  a  city  where 
tea,  as  yet,  was  only  sold  by  druggists  as  a  remedy  for  in- 
digestion. The  flower  of  Angoumoisin  aristocracy  was  sum- 
moned to  hear  Lucien  read  his  great  work.  Louise  had  hidden 
all  the  difficulties  from  her  friend,  but  she  let  fall  a  few  words 
touching  the  social  cabal  formed  against  him  ;  she  would  not 
have  him  ignorant  of  the  perils  besetting  his  career  as  a  man 
of  genius,  nor  of  the  obstacles  insurmountable  to  weaklings. 
She  drew  a  lesson  from  the  recent  victory.  Her  white  hands 
pointed  him  to  glory  that  lay  beyond  a  prolonged  martyrdom  ; 
she  spoke  of  stakes  and  flaming  pyres  ;  she  spread  the  adjec- 
tives thickly  on  her  finest  tartines,  and  decorated  them  with  a 
variety  of  her  most  pompous  epithets.  It  was  an  infringement 
of  the  copyright  of  the  passages  of  declamation  that  disfigure 
"  Corinne  ;  "  but  Louise  grew  so  much  the  greater  in  her  own 
eyes  as  she  talked  that  she  loved  the  Benjamin  who  inspired 
her  eloquence  the  more  for  it.  She  counseled  him  to  take  a 
bold  step  and  renounce  his  patronymic  for  the  noble  name  of 
Rubempre ;  he  need  not  mind  the  tittle-tattle  over  a  change 
which  the  King,  for  that  matter,  would  authorize.  Mme.  de 
Bargeton  undertook  to  procure  this  favor  ;  she  was  related  to 
the  Marquise  d'Espard,  who  was  a  Blamont-Chauvry  before 
her  marriage,  and  a  persona  grata  at  Court.  The  words 
"King,"  "Marquise  d'Espard,"  and  "  the  Court  "  dazzled 
Lucien  like  a  blaze  of  fireworks,  and  the  necessity  of  the  bap- 
tism was  plain  to  him. 

"Dear  child,"  said  Louise,  with  tender  mockery  in  her 
tones,  "the  sooner  it  is  done,  the  sooner  it  will  be  sanc- 
tioned." 

She  went  through  social  strata  and  showed  the  poet  that 
this  step  would  raise  him  many  rungs  higher  in  the  ladder. 
Seizing  the  moment  she  persuaded  Lucien  to  forswear  the 
chimerical  notions  of  '89  as  to  equality;  she  aroused  a  thirst 


64  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

for  social  distinction  allayed  by  David's  cool  common- 
sense  ;  she  pointed  out  fashionable  society  as  the  goal  and 
the  only  stage  for  such  a  talent  as  his.  The  rabid  Liberal 
became  a  Monarchist  in  petto ;  Lucien  set  his  teeth  in  the 
apple  of  desire  of  rank,  luxury,  and  fame.  He  swore  to 
win  a  crown  to  lay  at  his  lady's  feet,  even  if  there  should 
be  blood-stains  on  the  bays.  He  would  conquer  at  any  cost, 
quibuscumque  viis.  To  prove  his  courage,  he  told  her  of 
his  present  way  of  life ;  Louise  had  known  nothing  of  its 
hardships,  for  there  is  an  indefinable  pudency  inseparable 
from  strong  feeling  in  youth,  a  delicacy  which  shrinks  from  a 
display  of  great  qualities ;  and  a  young  man  loves  to  have  the 
real  quality  of  his  nature  discerned  through  the  incognito. 
He  described  that  life,  the  shackles  of  poverty  borne  with 
pride,  his  days  of  work  for  David,  his  nights  of  study.  His 
young  ardor  recalled  memories  of  the  colonel  of  six-and- 
twenty;  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  eyes  grew  soft;  and  Lucien, 
seeing  this  weakness  in  his  awe-inspiring  mistress,  seized  a 
hand  that  she  abandoned  to  him,  and  kissed  it  with  the  frenzy 
of  a  lover  and  a  poet  in  his  youth.  Louise  even  allowed  him 
to  set  his  eager,  quivering  lips  upon  her  forehead. 

"Oh,  child!  child!  if  any  one  should  see  us,  I  should 
look  very  ridiculous,"  she  said,  shaking  off  the  ecstatic  torpor. 

In  the  course  of  that  evening  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  wit 
made  havoc  of  Lucien's  prejudices,  as  she  styled  them.  Men 
of  genius,  according  to  her  doctrine,  had  neither  brothers  nor 
sisters  nor  father  nor  mother ;  the  great  tasks  laid  upon  them 
required  that  they  should  sacrifice  everything  that  they  might 
grow  to  their  full  stature.  Perhaps  their  families  might  suffer 
at  first  from  the  all-absorbing  exactions  of  a  giant  brain,  but  at 
a  later  day  they  were  repaid  a  hundredfold  for  self-denial  of 
every  kind  during  the  early  struggles  of  the  kingly  intellect 
with  adverse  fate  ;  they  shared  the  spoils  of  victory.  Genius 
was  answerable  to  no  man.  Genius  alone  could  judge  of  the 
means  used  to  an  end  which  no  one  else  could  know.  It  was 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  65 

the  duty  of  a  man  of  genius,  therefore,  to  set  himself  above 
law;  it  was  his  mission  to  reconstruct  law;  the  man  who  is 
master  of  his  age  may  take  all  that  he  needs,  run  any  risks, 
for  all  is  his.  She  quoted  instances.  Bernard  Palissy,  Louis 
XL,  Fox,  Napoleon,  Christopher  Columbus,  and  Julius  Caesar, 
all  these  world-famous  gamblers  had  begun  life  hampered  with 
debt,  or  as  poor  men  ;  all  of  them  had  been  misunderstood, 
taken  for  madmen,  reviled  for  bad  sons,  bad  brothers,  bad 
fathers ;  and  yet  in  after-life  each  one  had  come  to  be  the 
pride  of  his  family,  of  his  country,  of  the  civilized  world. 

Her  arguments  fell  upon  fertile  soil  in  the  worst  of  Lucien's 
nature,  and  spread  corruption  in  his  heart ;  for  him,  when  his 
desires  were  hot,  all  means  were  admissible.  But  failure  is 
high-treason  against  society ;  and  when  the  fallen  conqueror 
has  run  amuck  through  bourgeois  virtues,  and  pulled  down  the 
pillars  of  society,  small  wonder  that  society,  finding  Marius 
seated  among  the  ruins,  should  drive  him  forth  in  abhorrence. 
All  unconsciously  Lucien  stood  with  the  palm  of  genius  on 
the  one  hand  and  a  shameful  ending  in  the  hulks  on  the  other; 
and,  on  high  upon  the  Sinai  of  the  prophets,  beheld  no  Dead 
Sea  covering  the  cities  of  the  plain — the  hideous  winding- 
sheet  of  Gomorrha. 

So  well  did  Louise  loosen  the  swaddling-bands  of  provincial 
life  that  confined  the  heart  and  brain  of  her  poet  that  the 
said  poet  determined  to  try  an  experiment  on  her.  He  wished 
to  feel  certain  that  this  proud  conquest  was  his  without  laying 
himself  open  to  the  mortification  of  a  rebuff.  The  forth- 
coming soiree  gave  him  his  opportunity.  Ambition  blended 
with  his  love.  He  loved,  and  he  meant  to  rise,  a  double  de- 
sire, not  unnatural  in  young  men  with  a  heart  to  satisfy  and 
the  battle  of  life  to  fight.  Society,  summoning  all  her  children 
to  one  banquet,  arouses  ambition  in  the  very  morning  of  life. 
Youth  is  robbed  of  its  charm  and  generous  thoughts  are  cor- 
rupted by  mercenary  scheming.  The  idealist  would  fain  have 
it  otherwise,  but  intrusive  fact  too  often  gives  the  lie  to  the 
5 


66  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

fiction  which  we  should  like  to  believe,  making  it  impossible 
to  paint  the  young  man  of  the  nineteenth  century  other  than 
he  is.  Lucien  imagined  that  his  scheming  was  entirely 
prompted  by  good  feeling,  and  persuaded  himself  that  it  was 
done  solely  for  his  friend  David's  sake. 

He  wrote  a  long  letter  to  his  Louise ;  he  felt  bolder,  pen  in 
hand,  than  face  to  face.  In  a  dozen  sheets,  copied  out  three 
several  times,  he  told  her  of  his  father's  genius  and  blighted 
hopes  and  of  his  grinding  poverty.  He  described  his  beloved 
sister  as  an  angel,  and  David  as  another  Cuvier,  a  great  man 
of  the  future,  and  a  father,  friend,  and  brother  to  him  in  the 
present.  He  should  feel  himself  unworthy  of  his  Louise's  love 
(his  proudest  distinction)  if  he  did  not  ask  her  to  do  for 
David  all  that  she  had  done  for  him.  He  would  give  up 
everything  rather  than  desert  David  S6chard ;  David  must 
witness  his  success.  It  was  one  of  those  wild  letters  in  which 
a  young  man  points  a  pistol  at  a  refusal,  letters  full  of  boyish 
casuistry  and  the  incoherent  reasoning  of  an  idealist ;  a  deli- 
cious tissue  of  words  embroidered  here  and  there  by  the  naive 
utterances  that  women  love  so  well — unconscious  revelations 
of  the  writer's  heart. 

Lucien  left  the  letter  with  the  housemaid,  went  to  the 
office  and  spent  the  day  in  reading  proofs,  superintending  the 
execution  of  orders,  and  looking  after  the  affairs  of  the 
printing-house.  He  said  not  a  word  to  David.  While  youth 
bears  a  child's  heart,  it  is  capable  of  sublime  reticence.  Per- 
haps, too,  Lucien  began  to  dread  the  Phocion's  axe  which 
David  could  wield  when  he  chose,  perhaps  he  was  afraid  to 
meet  those  clear-sighted  eyes  that  read  the  depths  of  his  soul. 
But  when  he  read  Chenier's  poems  with  David,  his  secret  rose 
from  his  heart  to  his  lips  at  the  sting  of  a  reproach  that  he 
felt  as  the  patient  feels  the  probing  of  a  wound. 

And  now  try  to  understand  the  thoughts  that  troubled 
Lucien' s  mind  as  he  went  down  from  Angoulfcme.  Was  the 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  67 

great  lady  angry  with  him?  Would  she  receive  David?  Had 
he,  Lucien,  in  his  ambition,  flung  himself  headlong  back  into 
the  depths  of  L'Houmeau  ?  Before  he  set  that  kiss  on  Louise's 
forehead  he  had  had  time  to  measure  the  distance  between  a 
queen  and  her  favorite,  so  far  had  he  come  in  five  months, 
and  he  did  not  tell  himself  that  David  could  cross  over  the 
same  ground  in  a  moment.  Yet  he  did  not  know  how  com- 
pletely the  lower  orders  were  excluded  from  this  upper  world  ; 
he  did  not  so  much  as  suspect  that  a  second  experiment  of  this 
kind  meant  ruin  for  Mme.  de  Bargeton.  Once  accused  and 
fairly  convicted  of  a  liking  for  canaille,  Louise  would  be  driven 
from  the  place,  her  caste  would  shun  her  as  men  shunned  a 
leper  in  the  Middle  Ages.  NaVs  might  have  broken  the  moral 
law,  and  her  whole  circle,  the  clergy,  and  the  flower  of  the 
aristocracy  would  have  defended  her  against  the  world  through 
thick  and  thin ;  but  a  breach  of  another  law,  the  offense  of 
admitting  all  sorts  of  people  to  her  house — this  was  sin  with- 
out remission  ;  the  sins  of  those  in  power  are  always  over- 
looked— once  let  them  abdicate  and  they  shall  pay  the  pen- 
alty. And  what  was  it  but  abdication  to  receive  David? 

But  if  Lncien  did  not  see  these  aspects  of  the  question,  his 
aristocratic  instinct  discerned  plenty  of  difficulties  of  another 
kind,  and  he  took  alarm.  A  fine  manner  is  not  the  invariable 
outcome  of  noble  feeling;  and  while  no  man  at  court  had  a 
nobler  air  than  Racine,  Corneille  looked  very  much  like  a 
cattle-dealer,  and  Descartes  might  have  been  taken  for  an 
honest  Dutch  merchant ;  and  visitors  to  La  Brede,  meeting 
Montesquieu  in  a  cotton  nightcap,  carrying  a  rake  over  his 
shoulder,  mistook  him  for  a  gardener.  A  knowledge  of  the 
world,  when  it  is  not  sucked  in  with  mother's  milk  and  part 
of  the  inheritance  of  descent,  is  only  acquired  by  education, 
supplemented  by  certain  gifts  of  chance — a  graceful  figure, 
distinction  of  feature,  a  certain  ring  in  the  voice.  All  these, 
so  important  trifles,  David  lacked,  while  nature  had  bestowed 
them  upon  his  friend.  Of  gentle  blood  on  the  mother's  side, 


68  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Lucien  was  a  Frank,  even  down  to  the  high-arched  instep. 
David  had  inherited  the  physique  of  his  father  the  pressman 
and  the  flat  foot  of  the  Gael.  Lucien  could  hear  the  shower 
of  jokes  at  David's  expense  ;  he  could  see  Mme.  de  Bargeton's 
repressed  smile  ;  and  at  length,  without  being  exactly  ashamed 
of  his  brother,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  disregard  his  first  im- 
pulse and  to  think  twice  before  yielding  to  it  in  future. 

So,  after  the  hour  of  poetry  and  self-sacrifice,  after  the 
reading  of  verse  that  opened  out  before  the  friends  the  fields 
of  literature  in  the  light  of  a  newly  risen  sun,  the  hour  of 
worldly  wisdom  and  of  scheming  struck  for  Lucien. 

Down  once  more  in  L'Houmeau  he  wished  that  he  had  not 
written  that  letter ;  he  wished  he  could  have  it  back  again ; 
for  down  the  vista  of  the  future  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
inexorable  laws  of  the  world.  He  guessed  that  nothing  suc- 
ceeds like  success,  and  it  cost  him  something  to  step  down 
from  the  first  rung  of  the  scaling  ladder  by  which  he  meant 
to  reach  and  storm  the  heights  above.  Pictures  of  his  quiet 
and  simple  life  rose  before  him,  pictures  fair  with  the  brightest 
colors  of  blossoming  love.  There  was  David  ;  what  a  genius 
David  had — David  who  had  helped  him  so  generously  and 
would  die  for  him  at  need  ;  he  thought  of  his  mother,  of  how 
great  a  lady  she  was  in  her  lowly  lot,  and  how  she  thought  that 
he  was  as  good  as  he  was  clever  ;  then  of  his  sister  so  gracious 
in  submission  to  her  fate,  of  his  own  innocent  childhood  and 
conscience  as  yet  unstained,  of  budding  hopes  undespoiled 
by  rough  winds,  and  at  these  thoughts  the  past  broke  into 
flowers  once  more  for  his  memory. 

Then  he  told  himself  that  it  was  a  far  finer  thing  to  hew 
his  own  way  through  serried  hostile  mobs  of  aristocrats  or 
Philistines  by  repeated  successful  strokes,  than  to  reach  the 
goal  through  a  woman's  favor.  Sooner  or  later  his  genius 
should  shine  out ;  it  had  been  so  with  the  others,  his  prede- 
cessors; they  had  tamed  society.  Women  would  love  him 
when  that  day  came !  The  example  of  Napoleon,  which,  un- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  69 

luckily  for  this  nineteenth  century  of  ours,  has  filled  a  great 
many  ordinary  persons  with  aspirations  after  extraordinary 
destinies  —  the  example  of  Napoleon  occurred  to  Lucien's 
mind.  He  flung  his  schemes  to  the  winds  and  blamed  him- 
self for  thinking  of  them.  For  Lucien  was  so  made  that  he 
went  from  evil  to  good,  or  from  good  to  evil,  with  the  same 
facility. 

Lucien  had  none  of  the  scholar's  love  for  his  retreat ;  for 
the  past  month,  indeed,  he  had  felt  something  like  shame  at 
the  sight  of  the  store-front,  where  you  could  read — 

POSTEL  (LATE  CHARDON),  PHARMACEUTICAL  CHEMIST, 

in  yellow  letters  on  a  green  ground.  It  was  an  offense  to  him 
that  his  father's  name  should  be  thus  posted  up  in  a  place  where 
every  carriage  passed. 

Every  evening,  when  he  closed  the  ugly  iron  gate  and  went 
up  to  Beaulieu  to  give  his  arm  to  Mme.  de  Bargeton  among 
the  dandies  of  the  upper  town,  he  chafed  beyond  all  reason  at 
the  disparity  between  his  lodging  and  his  fortune. 

"I  love  Madame  de  Bargeton  ;  perhaps  in  a  few  days  she 
will  be  mine,  yet  here  I  live  in  this  rat-hole!  "  he  said  to 
himself  this  evening  as  he  went  down  the  narrow  passage  into 
the  little  yard  behind  the  shop.  This  evening  bundles  of 
boiled  herbs  were  spread  out  along  the  wall,  the  apprentice 
was  scouring  a  caldron,  and  M.  Postel  himself,  girded  about 
with  his  laboratory  apron,  was  standing  with  a  retort  in  his 
hand,  inspecting  some  chemical  product  while  keeping  an  eye 
upon  the  store  door,  or  if  the  eye  happened  to  be  engaged,  he 
had  at  any  rate  an  ear  for  the  bell. 

A  strong  smell  of  chamomile  and  peppermint  pervaded  the 
yard  and  the  poor  little  dwelling  at  the  side,  which  you 
reached  by  a  short  ladder,  with  a  rope  on  either  side,  by 
way  of  hand-rail.  Lucien's  room  was  an  attic  just  under  the 
roof. 


70  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"Good-day,  sonny,"  said  M.  Postel,  that  typical,  provincial 
tradesman.  "Are  you  pretty  middling?  I  have  just  been 
experimenting  on  treacle,  but  it  would  take  a  man  like  your 
father  to  find  what  I  am  looking  for.  Ah  !  he  was  a  famous 
chemist,  he  was !  If  I  had  only  known  his  gout  specific,  you 
and  I  would  be  rolling  along  in  our  paneled  carriage  this 
day." 

The  little  druggist,  whose  head  was  as  thick  as  his  heart  was 
kind,  never  let  a  week  pass  without  some  allusion  to  Chardon 
senior's  unlucky  secretiveness  as  to  that  discovery,  words  that 
Lucien  felt  like  a  stab. 

"  It  is  a  great  pity,"  Lucien  answered  curtly.  He  was  be- 
ginning to  think  his  father's  apprentice  prodigiously  vulgar, 
though  he  had  blessed  the  man  for  his  kindness,  for  honest 
Postel  had  helped  his  master's  widow  and  children  more  than 
once. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  !  "  M.  Postel  inquired, 
putting  down  his  test-tube  on  the  laboratory  table. 

"  Is  there  a  letter  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  letter  that  smells  like  balm  !  it  is  lying  on  the 
counter  near  my  desk." 

Mme.  de  Bargeton's  letter  lying  among  the  physic  bottles 
in  a  druggist's  shop  !  Lucien  sprang  in  to  rescue  it. 

"  Be  quick,  Lucien  !  your  dinner  has  been  waiting  an  hour 
for  you,  it  will  be  cold  !  "  a  sweet  voice  called  gently  through 
a  half-opened  window  ;  but  Lucien  did  not  hear. 

"That  brother  of  yours  has  gone  crazy,  mademoiselle," 
said  Postel,  lifting  his  face. 

The  old  bachelor  looked  rather  like  a  miniature  brandy 
cask,  embellished  by  a  painter's  fancy  with  a  fat,  ruddy  coun- 
tenance much  pitted  with  the  smallpox  ;  at  the  sight  of  Eve 
his  face  took  a  ceremonious  and  amiable  expression,  which 
said  plainly  that  he  had  thoughts  of  espousing  the  daughter 
of  his  predecessor,  but  could  not  put  an  end  to  the  strife  be- 
tween love  and  interest  in  his  heart.  He  often  said  to  Lucien, 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  71 

with  a  smile,  "Your  sister  is  uncommonly  pretty,  and  you 
are  not  so  bad-looking,  either.  Your  father  did  everything 
well." 

Eve  was  tall,  dark-haired,  dark  of  complexion,  and  blue- 
eyed  ;  but  notwithstanding  these  signs  of  virile  character, 
she  was  gentle,  tender-hearted,  and  devoted  to  those  she 
loved.  Her  frank  innocence,  her  simplicity,  her  quiet  ac- 
ceptance of  a  hard-working  life,  her  character — for  her  life 
was  above  reproach — could  not  fail  to  win  David  Sechard's 
heart.  So,  since  the  first  time  that  these  two  had  met, 
a  repressed  and  single-hearted  love  had  grown  up  between 
them  in  the  German  fashion,  quietly,  with  no  fervid  protesta- 
tions. In  their  secret  souls  they  thought  of  each  other  as  if 
there  were  a  bar  between  that  kept  them  apart ;  as  if  the 
thought  were  an  offense  against  some  jealous  husband  ;  and 
hid  their  feelings  from  Lucien  as  though  their  love  in  some 
way  did  him  a  wrong.  David,  moreover,  had  no  confidence 
in  himself,  and  could  not  believe  that  Eve  could  care  for 
him ;  Eve  was  a  penniless  girl,  and  therefore  shy.  A  real 
workgirl  would  have  been  bolder ;  but  Eve,  gently  bred  and 
fallen  into  poverty,  resigned  herself  to  her  dreary  lot.  Diffi- 
dent as  she  seemed,  she  was  in  reality  proud,  and  would  not 
make  a  single  advance  toward  the  son  of  a  father  said  to  be 
rich.  People  who  knew  the  value  of  a  growing  property 
said  that  the  vineyard  at  Marsac  was  worth  more  than  eighty 
thousand  francs,  to  say  nothing  of  the  additional  bits  of  land 
which  old  S£chard  used  to  buy  as  they  came  into  the  market, 
for  old  Sechard  had  savings — he  was  lucky  with  his  vintages, 
and  a  clever  salesman.  Perhaps  David  was  the  only  man  in 
AngouleTne  who  knew  nothing  of  his  father's  wealth.  In 
David's  eyes  Marsac  was  a  hovel  bought  in  1810  for  fifteen  or 
sixteen  thousand  francs,  a  place  that  he  saw  once  a  year  at 
vintage-time  when  his  father  walked  him  up  and  down  among 
the  vines  and  boasted  of  an  output  of  wine  which  the  young 
printer  never  saw,  and  he  cared  nothing  about  it. 


72  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

David  was  a  student  leading  a  solitary  life ;  and  the  love 
that  gained  even  greater  force  in  solitude,  as  he  dwelt  upon 
the  difficulties  in  the  way,  was  timid,  and  looked  for  encour- 
agement ;  for  David  stood  more  in  awe  of  Eve  than  a  simple 
clerk  of  some  high-born  lady.  He  was  awkward  and  ill  at 
ease  in  the  presence  of  his  idol,  and  as  eager  to  hurry  away 
as  he  had  been  to  come.  He  repressed  his  passion,  and  was 
silent.  Often  of  an  evening,  on  some  pretext  of  consulting 
Lucien,  he  would  leave  the  Place  du  Murier  and  go  down 
through  the  Palet  Gate  as  far  as  L'Houmeau,  but  at  the  sight 
of  the  green  iron  railings  his  heart  failed  him.  Perhaps  he 
had  come  too  late,  Eve  might  think  him  a  nuisance ;  she 
would  be  in  bed  by  this  time  no  doubt ;  and  so  he  turned 
back.  But  though  his  great  love  had  only  appeared  in  trifles, 
Eve  read  it  clearly ;  she  was  proud,  without  a  touch  of  vanity 
in  her  pride,  of  the  deep  reverence  in  David's  looks  and 
words  and  manner  toward  her,  but  it  was  the  young  printer's 
enthusiastic  belief  in  Lucien  that  drew  her  to  him  most  of 
all.  He  had  divined  the  way  to  win  Eve.  The  mute  delights 
of  this  love  of  theirs  differed  from  the  transports  of  stormy 
passion,  as  wildflowers  in  the  fields  from  the  brilliant  flowers 
in  garden  beds.  Interchange  of  glances,  delicate  and  sweet 
as  blue  water-flowers  on  the  surface  of  the  stream  ;  a  look  in 
either  face,  vanishing  as  swiftly  as  the  scent  of  briar-rose ; 
melancholy,  tender,  as  the  velvet  of  moss — these  were  the 
blossoms  of  two  rare  natures,  springing  up  out  of  a  rich  and 
fruitful  soil  on  foundations  of  rock.  Many  a  time  Eve  had 
seen  revelations  of  the  strength  that  lay  below  the  appearance 
of  weakness,  and  made  such  full  allowance  for  all  that  David 
left  undone,  that  the  slightest  word  now  might  bring  about  a 
closer  union  of  soul  and  soul.  She  read  his  innate  force  of 
character. 

Eve  opened  the  door,  and  Lucien  sat  down  without  a  word 
at  the  little  table  on  an  X-shaped  trestle.  There  was  no  table- 
cloth ;  the  poor  little  household  boasted  but  three  silver 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  73 

spoons  and  forks,  and  Eve  had  laid  them  all  for  the  dearly 
loved  brother. 

"What  have  you  there?"  she  asked  when  she  had  set  a 
dish  on  the  table  and  put  the  extinguisher  on  the  portable 
stove,  where  it  had  been  kept  hot  for  him. 

Lucien  did  not  answer.  Eve  took  up  a  little  plate,  daintily 
garnished  with  vine-leaves,  and  set  it  on  the  table  with  a 
pitcher  full  of  cream. 

"  There,  Lucien,  I've  had  strawberries  for  you." 

But  Lucien  was  so  absorbed  in  his  letter  that  he  did  not 
hear  a  word.  Eve  came  to  sit  beside  him  without  a  murmur; 
for  in  a  sister's  love  for  a  brother  it  is  an  element  of  great 
pleasure  to  be  treated  without  ceremony. 

"  Oh  !  what  is  it?"  she  cried  as  she  saw  tears  shining  in 
her  brother's  eyes. 

"Nothing,  nothing,  Eve,"  he  said,  and,  putting  his  arm 
about  her  waist,  he  drew  her  toward  him  and  kissed  her  fore- 
head, her  hair,  her  throat,  and  cheeks  with  a  warmth  that  sur- 
prised her. 

"  You  are  keeping  something  from  me." 

"  Well,  then — she  loves  me." 

"  I  knew  very  well  that  you  kissed  me  for  somebody  else," 
the  poor  sister  pouted,  flushing  red. 

"We  shall  all  be  happy,"  cried  Lucien,  swallowing  great 
spoonfuls  of  soup. 

"We?"  echoed  Eve.  The  same  presentiment  that  had 
crossed  David's  mind  prompted  her  to  add,  "  You  will  not 
care  so  much  about  us  now." 

"  How  can  you  think  that,  if  you  know  me?  " 

Eve  put  out  her  hand  and  grasped  his  tightly ;  then  she 
carried  off  the  empty  plate  and  the  brown  earthen  soup-tureen, 
and  brought  the  dish  that  she  had  made  for  him.  But  instead  of 
eating  his  dinner,  Lucien  read  his  letter  over  again ;  and  Eve, 
discreet  maiden,  did  not  ask  another  question,  respecting  her 
brother's  silence.  If  he  wished  to  tell  her  about  it,  she 


74  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

could  wait ;  if  he  did  not,  how  could  she  ask  him  to  tell  her? 
She  waited.     Here  is  the  letter : 

"  MY  FRIEND  :— Why  should  I  refuse  to  your  brother  in 
science  the  help  that  I  have  lent  you  ?  All  merits  have  equal 
rights  in  my  eyes ;  but  you  do  not  know  the  prejudices  of 
those  among  whom  I  live.  We  shall  never  make  an  aristoc- 
racy of  ignorance  understand  that  intellect  ennobles.  If  I 
have  not  sufficient  influence  to  compel  them  to  accept  M. 
David  Sechard,  I  am  quite  willing  to  sacrifice  the  worthless 
creatures  to  you.  It  would  be  a  perfect  hecatomb  in  the 
antique  manner.  But,  dear  friend,  you  would  not,  of  course, 
ask  me  to  leave  them  all  in  exchange  for  the  society  of  a  per- 
son whose  character  and  manners  might  not  please  me.  I 
know  from  your  flatteries  how  easily  friendship  can  be  blinded. 
Will  you  think  the  worse  of  me  if  I  attach  a  condition  to  my 
consent  ?  In  the  interests  of  your  future  I  should  like  to  see 
your  friend,  and  know  and  decide  for  myself  whether  you  are 
not  mistaken.  What  is  this  but  the  mother's  anxious  care  of 
my  dear  poet,  which  I  am  in  duty  bound  to  take  ? 

"  LOUISE  DE  NEGREPELISSE." 

Lucien  had  no  suspicion  of  the  art  with  which  polite  so- 
ciety puts  forward  a  "Yes"  on  the  way  to  a  "No,"  and  a 
"  No  "  that  leads  to  a  "  Yes."  He  took  this  note  for  a  vic- 
tory. David  should  go  to  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  house!  David 
would  shine  there  in  all  the  majesty  of  his  genius  !  He  raised 
his  head  so  proudly  in  the  intoxication  of  a  victory  which 
increased  his  belief  in  himself  and  his  ascendency  over  others, 
his  face  was  so  radiant  with  the  brightness  of  many  hopes,  that 
his  sister  could  not  help  telling  him  that  he  looked  handsome. 

"  If  that  woman  has  any  sense,  she  must  love  you  !  And 
if  so,  to-night  she  will  be  vexed,  for  all  the  ladies  will  try  all 
sorts  of  coquetries  on  you.  How  handsome  you  will  look 
when  you  read  your  '  Saint  John  in  Patmos ! '  If  only  I 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  75 

were  a  mouse,  and  could  just  slip  in  and  see  it !  Come,  I 
have  put  your  clothes  out  in  mother's  room." 

The  mother's  room  bore  witness  to  self-respecting  poverty. 
There  were  white  curtains  to  the  walnut-wood  bedstead, 
and  a  strip  of  cheap  green  carpet  at  the  foot.  A  set  of 
drawers  with  a  wooden  top,  a  looking  glass,  and  a  few  walnut- 
wood  chairs  completed  the  furniture.  The  clock  on  the 
mantel  told  of  the  old  vanished  days  of  prosperity.  White 
curtains  hung  in  the  windows,  a  gray  flowered  paper  covered  the 
walls,  and  the  tiled  floor,  colored  and  waxed  by  Eve  herself, 
shone  with  cleanliness.  On  a  little  round  table  in  the  middle 
of  the  room  stood  a  red  tray  with  a  pattern  of  gilt  roses,  and 
three  cups  and  a  sugar-basin  of  Limoges  porcelain.  Eve  slept 
in  the  little  adjoining  closet  where  there  was  just  room  for  a 
narrow  bed,  an  old-fashioned  low  chair,  and  a  work-table  by 
the  window ;  there  was  about  as  much  space  as  there  is  in  a 
ship's  cabin,  and  the  door  always  stood  open  for  the  sake  of 
air.  But  if  all  these  things  spoke  of  great  poverty,  the  atmos- 
phere was  sedate  and  studious  ;  and  for  those  who  knew  the 
mother  and  children,  there  was  something  touchingly  appro- 
priate in  their  surroundings. 

Lucien  was  tying  his  cravat  when  David's  step  sounded 
outside  in  the  little  yard,  and  in  another  moment  the  young 
printer  appeared.  From  his  manner  and  looks  he  seemed  to 
have  come  down  in  a  hurry. 

"Well,  David!"  cried  the  ambitious  poet,  "we  have 
gained  the  day  !  She  loves  me  !  You  shall  come  too." 

"No,"  David  said  with  some  confusion,  "I  came  down  to 
thank  you  for  this  proof  of  friendship,  but  I  have  been  think- 
ing things  over  seriously.  My  own  life  is  cut  out  for  me, 
Lucien.  I  am  David  Sechard,  printer  to  his  majesty  in 
Angouleme,  with  my  name  at  the  bottom  of  the  bills  posted 
on  every  wall.  For  people  of  that  class,  I  am  an  artisan,  or 
I  am  in  business,  if  you  like  it  better,  but  I  am  a  craftsman 
who  lives  over  a  shop  in  the  Rue  de  Beaulieu  at  the  corner 


76  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

of  the  Place  du  Murier.  I  have  not  the  wealth  of  a  Keller 
just  yet,  nor  the  name  of  a  Desplein,  two  sorts  of  power  that 
the  nobles  still  try  to  ignore,  and — and  I  am  so  far  agreed 
with  them — this  power  is  nothing  without  a  knowledge  of  the 
world  and  the  manners  of  a  gentleman.  How  am  I  to  prove 
my  claim  to  this  sudden  elevation  ?  I  should  only  make 
myself  a  laughing-stock  for  nobles  and  middle  class  to  boot. 
As  for  you,  your  position  is  different.  A  foreman  is  not  com- 
mitted to  anything.  You  are  busy  gaining  knowledge  that 
will  be  indispensable  by-and-by ;  you  can  explain  your  present 
work  by  your  future.  And,  in  any  case,  you  can  leave  your 
place  to-morrow  and  begin  something  else ;  you  might  study 
law  or  diplomacy,  or  go  into  the  civil  service.  Nobody  has 
docketed  and  pigeonholed  you,  in  fact.  Take  advantage  of 
your  social  maiden  fame  to  walk  alone  and  grasp  honors. 
Enjoy  all  pleasures  gladly,  even  frivolous  pleasures.  I  wish 
you  luck,  Lucien  ;  I  shall  enjoy  your  success  ;  you  will  be  like 
a  second  self  for  me.  Yes,  in  my  own  thoughts  I  shall  live 
your  life.  You  shall  have  the  holiday  life,  in  the  glare  of  the 
world  and  among  the  swift  working  springs  of  intrigue.  I 
will  lead  the  work-a-day  life,  the  tradesman's  life  of  sober  toil, 
and  the  patient  labor  of  scientific  research. 

"  You  shall  be  our  aristocracy,"  he  went  on,  looking  at  Eve 
as  he  spoke.  "  If  you  totter,  you  shall  have  my  arm  to  steady 
you.  If  you  have  reason  to  complain  of  the  treachery  of 
others,  you  will  find  a  refuge  in  our  hearts,  the  love  there  will 
never  change.  And  influence  and  favor  and  the  good-will  of 
others  might  fail  us  if  we  were  two ;  we  should  stand  in  each 
other's  way  ;  go  forward,  you  can  tow  me  after  you  if  it  comes 
to  that.  So  far  from  envying  you,  I  will  dedicate  my  life  to 
yours.  The  thing  that  you  have  just  done  for  me,  when  you 
risked  the  loss  of  your  benefactress,  your  love  it  may  be, 
rather  than  forsake  or  disown  me,  that  little  thing,  so  great 
as  it  was — ah,  well,  Lucien,  that  in  itself  would  bind  me  to 
you  for  ever  if  we  were  not  brothers  already.  Have  no  re- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  77 

morse,  no  concern  over  seeming  to  take  the  larger  share. 
This  one-sided  bargain  is  exactly  to  my  taste.  And,  after  all, 
suppose  that  you  should  give  me  a  pang  now  and  again,  who 
knows  that  I  shall  not  still  be  your  debtor  all  my  life  long?" 

He  looked  timidly  toward  Eve  as  he  spoke  ;  her  eyes  were 
full  of  tears,  she  saw  all  that  lay  below  the  surface. 

"  In  fact,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  Lucien,  who  stood 
amazed  at  this,  "  you  are  well  made,  you  have  a  graceful  figure, 
you  wear  your  clothes  with  an  air,  you  look  like  a  gentleman  in 
that  blue  coat  of  yours  with  the  yellow  buttons  and  the  plain 
nankeen  trousers ;  now  I  should  look  like  a  workingman 
among  those  people,  I  should  be  awkward  and  out  of  my  ele- 
ment, I  should  say  foolish  things,  or  say  nothing  at  all ;  but 
as  for  you,  you  can  overcome  any  prejudice  as  to  names  by 
taking  your  mother's,  you  can  call  yourself  Lucien  de  Ru- 
bempre',  I  am  and  always  shall  be  David  Sechard.  In  this 
society  that  you  frequent,  everything  tells  for  you,  everything 
would  tell  against  me.  You  were  born  to  shine  in  it.  Women 
will  worship  that  angel's  face  of  yours;  won't  they,  Eve?" 

Lucien  sprang  up  and  flung  his  arms  about  David.  David's 
humility  had  made  short  work  of  many  doubts  and  plenty  of 
difficulties.  Was  it  possible  not  to  feel  twice  tenderly  toward 
this  friend,  who  by  the  way  of  friendship  had  come  to  think 
the  very  thoughts  that  he,  Lucien,  had  reached  through  ambi- 
tion ?  The  aspirant  for  love  and  honors  felt  that  the  way 
had  been  made  smooth  for  him  ;  the  young  man  and  the 
comrade  felt  all  his  heart  go  out  toward  his  friend.  It  was 
one  of  those  moments  that  come  very  seldom  in  our  lives, 
when  all  the  forces  in  us  are  sweetly  strung,  and  every  chord 
vibrating  gives  out  full  resonance. 

And  yet,  this  goodness  of  a  noble  nature  increased  Lucien's 
human  tendency  to  take  himself  as  the  centre  of  things.  Do 
not  all  of  us  say  more  or  less,  "Z" Etat,  c'est  mot'/"  (I  am  the 
State)  with  Louis  Quatorze?  Lucien's  mother  and  sister  had 
concentrated  all  their  tenderness  on  him,  David  was  his  de- 


78  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

voted  friend;  he  was  accustomed  to  see  the  three  making 
every  effort  for  him  in  secret,  and  consequently  he  had  all 
the  faults  of  a  spoiled  eldest  son.  The  noble  is  eaten  up  with 
the  egoism  which  their  unselfishness  was  fostering  in  Lucien  ; 
and  Mme.  de  Bargeton  was  doing  her  best  to  develop  the 
same  fault  by  inciting  him  to  forget  all  that  he  owed  to  his 
sister,  and  mother,  and  David.  He  was  far  from  doing  so  as 
yet ;  but  was  there  not  ground  for  the  fear  that,  as  his  sphere 
of  ambition  widened,  his  whole  thought  perforce  would  be 
how  he  might  maintain  himself  in  it? 

When  emotion  had  subsided,  David  had  a  suggestion  to 
make.  He  thought  that  Lucien's  poem,  "  Saint  John  in  Pat- 
mos,"  was  possibly  too  biblical  to  be  read  before  an  audience 
but  little  familiar  with  apocalyptic  poetry.  Lucien,  making  his 
first  appearance  before  the  most  exacting  public  in  the  Char- 
ente,  seemed  to  be  nervous.  David  advised  him  to  take  Andre 
de  Che'nier  and  substitute  certain  pleasure  for  a  dubious  de- 
light. Lucien  was  a  perfect  reader,  the  listeners  would  enjoy 
listening  to  him,  and  his  modesty  would  doubtless  serve  him 
well.  Like  most  young  people,  the  pair  were  endowing  the 
rest  of  the  world  with  their  own  intelligence  and  virtues ;  for 
if  youth  that  has  not  yet  gone  astray  is  pitiless  for  the  sins  of 
others,  it  is  ready,  on  the  other  hand,  to  put  a  magnificent 
faith  in  them.  It  is  only,  in  fact,  after  a  good  deal  of  ex- 
perience of  life  that  we  recognize  the  truth  of  Raphael's  great 
saying — "  To  comprehend  is  to  equal." 

The  power  of  appreciating  poetry  is  rare,  generally  speak- 
ing, in  France  ;  esprit  soon  dries  up  the  source  of  the  sacred 
tears  of  ecstasy ;  nobody  cares  to  be  at  the  trouble  of  deciph- 
ering the  sublime,  of  plumbing  the  depths  to  discover  the  in- 
finite. Lucien  was  about  to  have  his  first  experience  of  the 
ignorance  and  indifference  of  worldlings.  He  went  round 
by  way  of  the  printing-office  for  David's  volume  of  poetry. 

The  two  lovers  were  left  alone,  and  David  had  never  felt 
more  embarrassed  in  his  life.  Countless  terrors  seized  upon 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  79 

him  ;  he  half-wished,  half-feared  that  Eve  would  praise  him  ; 
he  longed  to  run  away,  for  even  modesty  is  not  exempt  from 
coquetry.  David  was  afraid  to  utter  a  word  that  might  seem 
to  beg  for  thanks  ;  everything  that  he  could  think  of  put  him 
in  some  false  position,  so  he  held  his  tongue  and  looked 
guilty.  Eve,  guessing  the  agony  of  modesty,  was  enjoying 
the  pause  ;  but  when  David  twisted  his  hat  as  if  he  meant  to 
go,  she  looked  at  him  and  smiled. 

"  Monsieur  David,"  she  said,  "  if  you  are  not  going  to  pass 
the  evening  at  Madame  de  Bargeton's,  we  can  spend  the  time 
together.  It  is  fine ;  shall  we  take  a  walk  along  the  Charente  ? 
We  will  have  a  talk  about  Lucien." 

David  longed  to  fling  himself  at  the  feet  of  this  delicious 
girl.  Eve  had  rewarded  him  beyond  his  hopes  by  that  tone 
in  her  voice ;  the  kindness  of  her  accent  had  solved  the  diffi- 
culties of  the  position,  her  suggestion  was  something  better 
than  praise,  it  was  the  first  grace  given  by  love. 

"  But  give  me  time  to  dress  !  "  she  said,  as  David  made  as 
if  to  go  at  once. 

David  went  out;  he  who  all  his  life  long  had  not  known 
one  tune  from  another,  was  humming  to  himself;  honest 
Postel  hearing  him  with  surprise,  conceived  a  vehement  sus- 
picion of  Eve's  feelings  toward  the  printer. 

The  most  trifling  things  that  happened  that  evening  made 
a  great  impression  on  Lucien,  and  his  character  was  peculiarly 
susceptible  to  first  impressions.  Like  all  inexperienced  lovers 
he  arrived  so  early  that  Louise  was  not  in  the  drawing-room ; 
but  M.  de  Bargeton  was  there,  alone.  Lucien  had  already 
begun  to  serve  his  apprenticeship  in  the  practice  of  the  small 
deceits  with  which  the  lover  of  a  married  woman  pays  for  his 
happiness — deceits  through  which,  moreover,  she  learns  the 
extent  of  her  power ;  but  so  far  Lucien  had  not  met  the  lady's 
husband  face  to  face. 

M.  de  Bargeton's  intellect  was  of  the  limited  kind,  exactly 


80  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

poised  on  the  border-line  between  harmless  vacancy,  with 
some  glimmerings  of  sense,  and  the  excessive  stupidity  that 
can  neither  take  in  nor  give  out  any  idea.  He  was  thoroughly 
impressed  with  the  idea  of  doing  his  duty  in  society;  and, 
doing  his  utmost  to  be  agreeable,  had  adopted  the  smile  of 
an  opera  dancer  as  his  sole  method  of  expression.  Satisfied, 
he  smiled ;  dissatisfied,  he  smiled  again.  He  smiled  at  good 
news  and  evil  tidings;  with  slight  modifications  the  smile  did 
duty  on  all  occasions.  If  he  was  positively  obliged  to  express 
his  personal  approval,  a  complacent  laugh  reinforced  the 
smile;  but  he  never  vouchsafed  a  word  until  driven  to  the 
last  extremity.  A  ttte-a-tfte  put  him  in  the  one  embarrassment 
of  his  vegetative  existence,  for  then  he  was  obliged  to  look 
for  something  to  say  in  the  vast  blank  of  his  vacant  interior. 
He  usually  got  out  of  the  difficulty  by  a  return  to  the  artless 
ways  of  childhood ;  he  thought  aloud,  took  you  into  his  con- 
fidence concerning  the  smallest  details  of  his  existence,  his 
physical  wants,  the  small  sensations  which  did  duty  for  ideas 
with  him.  He  never  talked  about  the  weather,  nor  did  he 
indulge  in  the  ordinary  commonplaces  of  conversation — the 
way  of  escape  provided  for  weak  intellects ;  he  plunged  you 
into  the  most  intimate  and  personal  topics. 

"  I  took  veal  this  morning  to  please  Madame  de  Bargeton, 
who  is  very  fond  of  veal,  and  my  stomach  has  been  very 
uneasy  since,"  he  would  tell  you.  "I  knew  how  it  would 
be;  it  never  suits  me.  How  do  you  explain  it?"  Or,  very 
likely — 

"  I  am  just  about  to  ring  for  a  glass  of  eau  sueret;  will  you 
have  some  at  the  same  time?  " 

Or,  "I  am  going  to  take  a  ride  to-morrow;  I  am  going 
over  to  see  my  father-in-law." 

These  short  observations  did  not  permit  of  discussion ;  a 
"Yes"  or  "No"  extracted  from  his  interlocutor,  the  con- 
versation dropped  dead.  Then  M.  de  Bargeton  mutely  im- 
plored his  visitor  to  come  to  his  assistance.  Turning  west- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS,  81 

ward  his  old  asthmatic  pug-dog's  countenance,  he  gazed  at 
you  with  big,  lustreless  eyes,  in  a  way  that  said,  "You  were 
saying?" 

The  people  whom  he  loved  best  were  bores  anxious  to 
talk  about  themselves ;  he  listened  to  them  with  an  un- 
feigned and  delicate  interest  which  so  endeared  him  to  the 
species  that  all  the  twaddlers  of  Angouleme  credited  M.  de 
Bargeton  with  more  understanding  than  he  chose  to  show, 
and  were  of  the  opinion  that  he  was  underrated.  So  it  hap- 
pened that  when  these  persons  could  find  nobody  else  to 
listen  to  them,  they  went  off  to  give  M.  de  Bargeton  the 
benefit  of  the  rest  of  the  story,  argument,  or  whatnot,  sure 
beforehand  of  his  eulogistic  smile.  Mme.  de  Bargeton 's 
rooms  were  always  crowded,  and  generally  her  husband  felt 
quite  at  his  ease.  He  interested  himself  in  the  smallest  de- 
tails ;  he  watched  those  who  came  in  and  bowed  and  smiled, 
and  brought  the  new  arrivals  to  his  wife;  he  lay  in  wait  for 
departing  visitors,  and  went  with  them  to  the  door,  taking 
leave  of  them  with  that  eternal  smile.  When  conversation  grew 
lively,  and  he  saw  that  every  one  was  interested  in  one  thing 
or  another,  he  stood,  happy  and  mute,  planted  like  a  swan 
on  both  feet,  listening,  to  all  appearance,  to  a  political  dis- 
cussion ;  or  he  looked  over  the  card-players'  hands  without  a 
notion  of  what  it  was  all  about,  for  he  could  not  play  at  any 
game ;  or  he  walked  about  and  took  snuff  to  promote  digestion. 
AnaTs  was  the  bright  side  of  his  life ;  she  made  it  unspeakably 
pleasant  for  him.  Stretched  out  at  full  length  in  his  arm- 
chair, he  watched  admiringly  while  she  did  her  part  as  hostess, 
for  she  talked  for  him.  It  was  a  pleasure,  too,  to  him  to  try 
to  see  the  point  in  her  remarks ;  and  as  it  was  often  a  good 
while  before  he  succeeded,  his  smiles  appeared  after  a  delay, 
like  the  explosion  of  a  shell  which  has  entered  the  earth  and 
worked  up  again.  His  respect  for  his  wife,  moreover,  almost 
amounted  to  adoration.  And  so  long  as  we  can  adore,  is  there 
not  happiness  enough  in  life?  Ana'is1  husband  was  as  docile 
6 


LOST  ILLUSIOSS. 


a  child  who  asks  nothing  better  than  to  be  told  what  to  do; 
J, ym  nmi  1 1 til  ih  in  •!••••  if  ihr  ••  .  ihr  hid  lilrrri  DO 

She  bad  taken  care  of 


hmi  as  yoa  take  care  of  a  doak  ;  she  kept  him  brasbed,  nest, 
and  tidy,  looked  closely  after  him  and  bnmored  him ;  and 
looked  after,  brushed,  kept  tidy,  and  cared  for,  M. 

had  CT*"f  to  feel  an  almost  doc-like  Jffri  'HJ**  for 
:  v  :  _•_;;:  :  _:  : :  r  7  :::;.:;;;  dml  DOSfi  nothimjl 
hfme.  de  Bargeton,  knowing  that  her  hnsband  had  nopleasare 
bat  in  good-cheer,  saw  that  he  had  good  dinners;  she  had 
pity  upon  him,  she  had  never  nllfird  a  word  of  complaint; 
there  wuc.  people  who  could  not  mnentand  that  a 
might  keep  silence  through  pride,  and  argoed  that  1L 
oc  .Hflirpcto^i  roost  possess  2000  OBSUCUCS  JUQQCB  IPOIB  wbiic 

VJCW«  JflJDC*  OC  fiflDIBCtOBt  bmu.  QTuJGG  nlTP  ID* O  Tmli^^y  •  Sflv* 
T"*"**^  '  IM>  y***^^  a  faftiw^  fAtf^lfttff  tn Inf  wMp  ••  G-3 

she  would  say,  and  be  went  forthwith,  like  a  soldier  at  the 

word  of  command.  He  stood  at  attention  in  her  pieaence, 
and  waited  motionless  for  his  orders. 

There  was  some  talk  about  this  time  of  nominating  the 
mute  gentleman  for  a  deputy.  Lucien  as  yet  had  not  lifted 
the  TeD  which  hid  such  an  TmiTnag»»aM»  character;  "»«i**^^ 
he  had  scamely  frequented  the  boose  long  rnim^li  M.  de 
Bargeton,  ty^jHl  at  full  length  in  his  great  chair,  Jpi>f-"|rd  to 
see  and  understand  all  that  was  going  on  ;  his 
to  his  dignity,  and  his  figur-  <  -  - 

awe.  It  is  the  wont  of  imaginative  natures  to  magnify  every- 
thing, or  to  find  a  soul  to  inhabit  evay  shape ;  and  TJ^S^^ 
took  this  gentleman,  not  for  a  granite  guard-post,  but  for  a 
"-"--'-"  -.  '  ~  t  a.nd  thought  it  i  r '.tsMn' : :  DflBcfl  '-'*  kmBj 

"  I  am  the  first  comer,"  he  said,  bowing  with  more  respect 
than  people  usually  showed  the  worthy  man. 

"  That  is  natural  enongV*  said  M.  de  Bargeton, 

Lucien  took  the  remark  for  an  epigram ;  the  lady's 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  83 

was  jealous,  he  thought ;  he  reddened  under  it,  looked  in 
the  glass,  and  tried  to  give  himself  a  countenance. 

"You  live  in  L'Houmeau,"  said  M.  de  Bargeton,  "and 
people  who  live  a  long  way  off  always  come  earlier  than  those 
who  live  near-by." 

"What  is  the  reason  of  that?"  asked  Lucien  politely. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  M.  de  Bargeton,  relapsing  into 
immobility. 

"You  have  not  cared  to  find  out,"  Lucien  began  again; 
"  any  one  who  could  make  that  observation  could  discover 
the  cause." 

"Ah !  "  said  M.  de  Bargeton,  "  final  causes!    Eh !  eh! " 

The  conversation  came  to  a  dead  stop ;  Lucien  racked  his 
brains  to  resuscitate  it. 

"  Madame  de  Bargeton  is  dressing,  no  doubt,"  he  began, 
shuddering  at  the  silliness  of  the  question. 

"Yes,  she  is  dressing,"  her  husband  naturally  answered. 

Lucien  looked  up  at  the  ceiling,  and  vainly  tried  to  think 
of  something  else  to  say.  As  his  eyes  wandered  over  the  gray 
painted  joists  and  the  spaces  of  plaster  between,  he  saw,  not 
without  qualms,  that  the  little  chandelier  with  the  old-fashioned 
cut-glass  pendants  had  been  stripped  of  its  gauze  covering  and 
filled  with  wax-candles.  All  the  covers  had  been  removed 
from  the  furniture,  and  the  faded  flowered  silk  damask  had 
come  to  light.  These  preparations  meant  something  extra- 
ordinary. The  poet  looked  at  his  boots,  and  misgivings  about 
his  costume  arose  in  his  mind.  Grown  stupid  with  dismay 
he  turned  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  a  Japanese  jar  standing  on  a 
be-garlanded  console  table  of  the  time  of  Louis  Quinze ;  then, 
recollecting  that  he  must  conciliate  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  hus- 
band, he  tried  to  find  out  if  the  good  gentleman  had  a  hobby 
of  any  sort  in  which  he  might  be  humored. 

"You  seldom  leave  the  city,  monsieur?  "  he  began,  return- 
ing to  M.  de  Bargeton. 

"Very  seldom." 


84  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Silence  again.  M.  de  Bargeton  watched  Lucien's  slightest 
movements  like  a  suspicious  cat ;  the  young  man's  presence 
disturbed  him.  Each  was  afraid  of  the  other, 

"  Can  he  feel  suspicious  of  my  attentions  ? ' '  thought  Lucien ; 
"he  seems  to  be  anything  but  friendly." 

Lucien  was  not  a  little  embarrassed  by  the  uneasy  glances 
that  the  other  gave  him  as  he  went  to  and  fro,  when,  luckily 
for  him,  the  old  manservant  (who  wore  livery  for  the  occa- 
sion) announced  "  Monsieur  du  Chatelet."  The  Baron  came 
in,  very  much  at  his  ease,  greeted  his  friend  Bargeton,  and 
favored  Lucien  with  the  little  nod  then  in  vogue,  which  the 
poet  in  his  mind  called  purse-proud  impertinence. 

Sixte  du  Chatelet  appeared  in  a  pair  of  dazzling  white 
trousers  with  invisible  straps  that  kept  them  in  shape.  He 
wore  pumps  and  thread  stockings;  the  black  ribbon  of  his 
eyeglass  meandered  over  a  white  waistcoat,  and  the  fashion 
and  elegance  of  Paris  was  strikingly  apparent  in  his  black 
coat.  He  was,  indeed,  just  the  faded  beau  who  might  be  ex- 
pected from  his  antecedents,  though  advancing  years  had 
already  endowed  him  with  a  certain  waist-girth  which  some- 
what exceeded  the  limits  of  elegance.  He  had  dyed  the  hair 
and  whiskers  grizzled  by  his  sufferings  during  his  travels,  and 
this  gave  a  hard  look  to  his  face.  The  skin  which  had  once 
been  so  delicate  had  been  tanned  to  the  copper-red  color  of 
Europeans  from  India;  but  in  spite  of  his  absurd  pretensions 
to  youth,  you  could  still  discern  traces  of  the  imperial  high- 
ness' charming  private  secretary  in  du  Chatelet's  general  ap- 
pearance. He  put  up  his  eyeglass  and  stared  at  his  rival's 
nankeen  trousers,  at  his  boots,  at  his  waistcoat,  at  the  blue 
coat  made  by  the  Angoul&me  tailor — he  looked  him  over  from 
head  to  foot,  in  short — then  he  coolly  returned  the  eyeglass  to 
his  waistcoat  pocket  with  a  gesture  that  said,  "I  am  satisfied." 
And  Lucien,  eclipsed  at  this  moment  by  the  elegance  of  the 
internal  revenue  department,  thought  that  it  would  be  his  turn 
by-and-by,  when  he  should  turn  a  face  lighted  up  with  poetry 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  85 

upon  the  assembly ;  but  this  prospect  did  not  prevent  him 
from  feeling  the  sharp  pang  that  succeeded  to  the  uncomfort- 
able sense  of  M.  de  Bargeton's  imagined  hostility.  The 
Baron  seemed  to  bring  all  the  weight  of  his  fortune  to  bear 
upon  him,  the  better  to  humiliate  him  in  his  poverty.  M.  de 
Bargeton  had  counted  on  having  no  more  to  say,  and  his  soul 
was  dismayed  by  the  pause  spent  by  the  rivals  in  mutual 
survey ;  he  had  a  question  which  he  kept  for  desperate  emer- 
gencies, laid  up  in  his  mind,  as  it  were,  against  a  rainy  day. 
Now  was  the  proper  time  to  bring  it  out. 

"Well,  monsieur,"  he  said,  looking  at  Chatelet  with  an 
important  air,  "  is  there  anything  fresh?  anything  that  people 
are  talking  about?  " 

"  Why,  the  latest  thing  is  Monsieur  Chardon,"  Chitelet 
said  maliciously.  "  Ask  him.  Have  you  brought  some 
charming  poem  for  us?"  inquired  the  vivacious  Baron,  ad- 
justing the  side-curl  that  had  gone  astray  on  his  temple. 

"I  should  have  asked  you  whether  I  had  succeeded,"  Lu- 
cien  answered ;  "  you  have  been  before  me  in  the  field  of 
verse. ' ' 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  the  other,  "  a  few  vaudevilles,  well  enough 
in  their  way,  written  to  oblige,  a  song  now  and  again  to  suit 
some  occasion,  lines  for  music,  no  good  without  the  music, 
and  my  long  Epistle  to  a  Sister  of  Buonaparte  (ungrateful 
that  he  was),  will  not  hand  down  my  name  to  posterity." 

At  this  moment  Mme.  de  Bargeton  appeared  in  all  the 
glory  of  an  elaborate  toilet.  She  wore  a  Jewess'  turban,  en- 
riched with  an  Eastern  clasp.  The  cameos  on  her  neck 
gleamed  through  the  gauze  scarf  gracefully  wound  about  her 
shoulders ;  the  sleeves  of  her  printed  muslin  dress  were  short, 
so  as  to  display  a  series  of  bracelets  on  her  shapely  white 
arms.  Lucien  was  charmed  with  this  theatrical  style  of  dress. 
M.  du  Chatelet  gallantly  plied  the  queen  with  fulsome  com- 
pliments that  made  her  smile  with  pleasure — she  was  so  glad 
to  be  praised  in  Lucien 's  hearing.  But  she  scarcely  gave  her 


86  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

dear  poet  a  glance,  and  met  Chatelet  with  a  mortifying  civil- 
ity that  kept  him  at  a  distance. 

By  this  time  the  guests  began  to  arrive.  First  and  foremost 
appeared  the  bishop  and  his  vicar-general,  dignified  and  rev- 
erend figures  both,  though  no  two  men  could  well  be  more 
unlike,  his  lordship  being  tall  and  attenuated,  and  his  acolyte 
short  and  fat.  Both  churchmen's  eyes  were  bright ;  but  while 
the  bishop  was  pallid,  his  vicar-general's  countenance  glowed 
with  high  health.  Both  were  impassive,  and  gesticulated  but 
little  j  both  appeared  to  be  prudent  men,  and  their  silence  and 
reserve  were  supposed  to  hide  great  intellectual  powers. 

Close  upon  the  two  ecclesiastics  followed  Mme.  de  Chandour 
and  her  husband,  a  couple  so  extraordinary  that  those  who 
are  unfamiliar  with  provincial  life  might  be  tempted  to  think 
that  such  persons  were  purely  imaginary.  Amelie  de  Chan- 
dour  posed  as  the  rival  queen  of  Angouldme ;  her  husband, 
M.  de  Chandour,  known  in  the  circle  as  Stanislas,  was  a 
has-been  young  man,  slim  still  at  five-and-forty,  with  a  coun- 
tenance like  a  sieve.  His  cravat  was  always  tied  so  as  to  pre- 
sent two  menacing  points — one  spike  reached  the  height  of 
his  right  ear,  the  other  pointed  downward  to  the  red  ribbon 
of  his  cross.  His  coat-tails  were  violently  at  strife.  A  cut- 
away vest  displayed  the  ample  swelling  curves  of  a  stiffly 
starched  shirt  fastened  by  massive  gold  studs.  His  dress,  in 
fact,  was  exaggerated,  till  he  looked  almost  like  a  living  cari- 
cature, which  no  one  could  behold  for  the  first  time  with 
gravity. 

Stanislas  looked  himself  over  from  top  to  toe  with  a  kind 
of  satisfaction ;  he  verified  the  number  of  his  vest  buttons, 
and  followed  the  curving  outlines  of  his  tight-fitting  trousers 
with  fond  glances  that  came  to  a  standstill  at  last  on  the 
pointed  tips  of  his  shoes.  When  he  ceased  to  contemplate 
himself  in  this  way,  he  looked  toward  the  nearest  mirror  to 
see  if  his  hair  still  kept  in  curl ;  then,  sticking  a  finger  in  his 
vest  pocket,  he  looked  about  him  at  the  women  with  happy 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  87 

eyes,  flinging  his  head  back  in  three-quarters  profile  with  all 
the  airs  of  a  king  of  the  poultry-yard,  airs  which  were  prodig- 
iously admired  by  the  aristocratic  circle  of  which  he  was  the 
beau.  There  was  a  strain  of  eighteenth-century  grossness,  as 
a  rule,  in  his  talk ;  a  detestable  kind  of  conversation  which 
procured  him  some  success  with  women — he  made  them  laugh. 
M.  du  Chatelet  was  beginning  to  give  this  gentleman  some 
uneasiness ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  since  Mme.  de  Bargeton 
had  taken  him  up,  the  lively  interest  taken  by  the  women  in 
the  Byron  of  Angouleme  was  distinctly  on  the  increase.  His 
coxcomb's  superciliousness  tickled  their  curiosity;  he  posed 
as  the  man  whom  nothing  can  arouse  from  his  apathy,  and 
his  jaded  Sultan's  airs  were  like  a  challenge. 

Amdlie  de  Chandour,  short,  plump,  fair-complexioned,  and 
dark-haired,  was  a  poor  actress;  her  voice  was  loud,  like 
everything  else  about  her ;  her  head,  with  its  load  of  feathers 
in  winter  and  flowers  in  summer,  was  never  still  for  a  moment. 
She  had  a  fine  flow  of  conversation,  though  she  could  never 
bring  a  sentence  to  an  end  without  a  wheezing  accompani- 
ment from  an  asthma,  to  which  she  would  not  confess. 

M.  de  Saintot,  otherwise  Astolphe,  president  of  the  agri- 
cultural society,  a  tall,  stout,  high-colored  personage,  usually 
appeared  in  the  wake  of  his  wife,  Elisa,  a  lady  with  a  counte- 
nance like  a  withered  fern,  called  Lili  by  her  friends — a  baby 
name  singularly  at  variance  with  its  owner's  character  and 
demeanor.  Mme.  de  Saintot  was  a  solemn  and  extremely 
pious  woman,  and  a  very  trying  partner  at  a  game  of  cards. 
Astolphe  was  supposed  to  be  a  scientific  man  of  the  first  rank. 
He  was  as  ignorant  as  a  carp,  but  he  had  compiled  the  articles 
on  sugar  and  brandy  for  a  dictionary  of  agriculture  by  whole- 
sale plunder  of  newspaper  articles  and  pillage  of  previous 
writers.  It  was  believed  all  over  the  department  that  M. 
Saintot  was  engaged  upon  a  treatise  on  modern  husbandry ; 
but  though  he  locked  himself  into  his  study  every  morning, 
he  had  not  written  a  couple  of  pages  in  a  dozen  years.  If 


88  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

anybody  called  to  see  him,  he  always  contrived  to  be  discov- 
ered rummaging  among  his  papers,  hunting  for  a  stray  note  or 
mending  a  pen ;  but  he  spent  the  whole  time  in  his  study  on 
puerilities,  reading  the  newspaper  through  from  end  to  end, 
cutting  figures  out  of  corks  with  his  penknife,  and  drawing 
patterns  on  his  blotting-paper.  He  would  turn  over  the 
leaves  of  his  Cicero  to  see  if  anything  applicable  to  the  events 
of  the  day  might  catch  his  eye,  and  drag  his  quotation  by  the 
heels  into  the  conversation  that  evening,  saying,  "  There  is  a 
passage  in  Cicero  which  might  have  been  written  to  suit 
modern  times,"  and  out  came  his  phrase,  to  the  astonishment 
of  his  audience.  "Really,"  they  said  among  themselves, 
"  Astolphe  is  a  well  of  learning."  The  interesting  fact  circu- 
lated all  over  the  town,  and  sustained  the  general  belief  in 
M.  de  Saintot's  abilities. 

After  this  pair  came  M.  de  Bartas,  known  as  Adrien  among 
the  circle.  It  was  M.  de  Bartas,  who  boomed  out  his  song  in 
a  bass  voice  and  made  prodigious  claims  to  musical  knowl- 
edge. His  self-conceit  had  taken  a  stand  upon  solfeggi ;  he 
began  by  admiring  his  appearance  while  he  sang,  passed 
thence  to  talking  about  music,  and  finally  to  talking  of  noth- 
ing else.  His  musical  tastes  had  become  a  monomania;  he 
grew  animated  only  on  the  one  subject  of  music ;  he  was 
miserable  all  evening  until  somebody  begged  him  to  sing. 
When  he  had  bellowed  one  of  his  airs,  he  revived  again ; 
strutted  about,  raised  himself  on  his  heels,  and  received  com- 
pliments with  a  deprecating  air  ;  but  modesty  did  not  prevent 
him  from  going  from  group  to  group  for  his  meed  of  praise  ; 
and  when  there  was  no  more  to  be  said  about  the  singer,  he 
returned  to  the  subject  of  the  song,  discussing  its  difficulties  or 
extolling  the  composer. 

M.  Alexandre  de  Brebian  performed  heroic  exploits  in 
sepia ;  he  disfigured  the  walls  of  his  friends'  rooms  with  a 
swarm  of  crude  productions,  and  spoiled  all  the  albums  in 
the  department.  M.  Alexandre  de  Brebian  and  M.  de  Bartas 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  89 

came  together,  each  with  his  friend's  wife  on  his  arm,  a  cross- 
cornered  arrangement  which  gossip  declared  to  be  carried  out 
to  the  fullest  extent.  As  for  the  two  women,  Mesdames  Char- 
lotte de  Brebian  and  Josephine  de  Bartas,  or  Lolotte  and 
Fifine,  as  they  were  called,  both  took  an  equal  interest  in  a 
scarf,  or  the  trimming  of  a  dress,  or  the  reconciliation  of 
several  irreconcilable  colors  ;  both  were  eaten  up  with  a  desire 
to  look  like  Parisiennes,  and  neglected  their  homes,  where 
everything  went  wrong.  But  if  they  dressed  like  dolls  in 
tightly-fitting  gowns  of  home  manufacture  and  exhibited  out- 
rageous combinations  of  crude  colors  upon  their  persons, 
their  husbands  availed  themselves  of  the  artist's  privilege  and 
dressed  as  they  pleased,  and  curious  it  was  to  see  the  provin- 
cial dowdiness  of  the  pair.  In  their  threadbare  clothes  they 
looked  like  the  supernumeraries  that  represent  rank  and  fash- 
ion at  stage  weddings  in  third-rate  theatres. 

One  of  the  queerest  figures  in  the  rooms  was  M.  le  Comte 
de  Senonches,  known  by  the  aristocratic  name  of  Jacques,  a 
mighty  hunter,  lean  and  sunburned,  a  haughty  gentleman,  about 
as  amiable  as  a  wild  boar,  as  suspicious  as  a  Venetian,  and  as 
jealous  as  a  Moor,  who  lived  on  terms  of  the  friendliest  and 
most  perfect  intimacy  with  M.  du  Hautoy,  otherwise  Francis, 
the  friend  of  the  house. 

Mme.  de  Senonches  (Zephirine)  was  a  tall,  fine-looking 
woman,  though  her  complexion  was  spoiled  already  by  pimples 
due  to  liver  complaint,  on  which  grounds  she  was  said  to  be 
exacting.  With  a  slender  figure  and  delicate  proportions, 
she  could  afford  to  indulge  in  languid  manners,  savoring 
somewhat  of  affectation,  but  revealing  passion  and  the  con- 
sciousness that  every  least  caprice  will  be  gratified  by  love. 

Francis,  the  house  friend,  was  rather  distinguished  looking. 
He  had  given  up  his  consulship  in  Valence  and  sacrificed  his 
diplomatic  prospects  to  live  near  Zephirine  (also  known  as 
Zizine)  in  Angouldme.  He  had  taken  the  household  in 
charge,  he  superintended  the  children's  education,  taught 


90  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

them  foreign  languages,  and  looked  after  the  fortunes  of  M. 
and  Mme.  de  Senonches  with  the  most  complete  devotion. 
Noble  Angouleme,  administrative  Augoul$me,  and  bourgeois 
Angouleme  alike  had  looked  askance  for  a  long  while  at  this 
phenomenon  of  the  perfect  union  of  three  persons ;  but  finally 
the  mysterious  conjugal  trinity  appeared  to  them  so  rare  and 
pleasing  a  spectacle  that,  if  M.  du  Hautoy  had  shown  any 
intention  of  marrying,  he  would  have  been  thought  mon- 
strously immoral.  Mme.  de  Senonches,  however,  had  a  lady 
companion,  a  goddaughter,  and  her  excessive  attachment  to 
this  Mile,  de  la  Haye  was  beginning  to  raise  surmises  of  dis- 
quieting mysteries ;  it  was  thought,  in  spite  of  some  impossi- 
ble discrepancies  in  dates,  that  Francoise  de  la  Haye  bore  a 
striking  likeness  to  Francis  du  Hautoy. 

When  "  Jacques"  was  shooting  in  the  neighborhood,  peo- 
ple used  to  inquire  after  Francis,  and  Jacques  would  discourse 
on  his  steward's  little  ailments,  and  talk  of  his  wife  in  the 
second  place.  So  curious  did  this  blindness  seem  in  a  man 
of  jealous  temper  that  his  greatest  friends  used  to  draw  him 
out  on  the  topic  for  the  amusement  of  others  who  did  not 
know  of  the  mystery.  M.  du  Hautoy  was  a  finical  dandy 
whose  minute  care  of  himself  had  degenerated  into  mincing 
affectation  and  childishness.  He  took  an  interest  in  his  cough, 
his  appetite,  his  digestion,  his  night's  rest.  Zdphirine  had 
succeeded  in  making  a  valetudinarian  of  her  factotum ;  she 
coddled  him  and  doctored  him ;  she  crammed  him  with  deli- 
cate fare  as  if  he  had  been  a  fine  lady's  lap-dog ;  she  embroid- 
ered vests  for  him  and  pocket-handkerchiefs  and  cravats  until 
he  became  so  used  to  wearing  finery  that  she  transformed  him 
into  a  kind  of  Japanese  idol.  Their  understanding  was  perfect. 
In  season  and  out  of  season  Zizine  consulted  Francis  with  a 
look,  and  Francis  seemed  to  take  his  ideas  from  Zizine's  eyes. 
They  frowned  and  smiled  together,  and  seemingly  took  coun- 
sel of  each  other  before  making  the  simplest  commonplace 
remark. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  91 

The  largest  landowner  in  the  neighborhood,  a  man  whom 
every  one  envied,  was  the  Marquis  de  Pimentel ;  he  and  his 
wife,  between  them,  had  an  income  of  forty  thousand  livres, 
and  spent  their  winters  in  Paris.  This  evening  they  had 
driven  into  AngoulSme  in  their  caleche,  and  had  brought 
their  neighbors,  the  Baron  and  Baroness  de  Rastignac  and 
their  party,  the  Baroness'  aunt  and  daughters,  two  charming 
young  ladies,  penniless  girls  who  had  been  carefully  brought 
up,  and  were  dressed  in  the  simple  way  that  sets  off  natural 
loveliness. 

These  personages,  beyond  question  the  first  in  the  company, 
met  with  a  reception  of  chilling  silence  ;  the  respect  paid  to 
them  was  full  of  jealousy,  especially  as  everybody  saw  that 
Mme.  de  Bargeton  paid  marked  attention  to  the  guests.  The 
two  families  belonged  to  the  very  small  minority  who  hold 
themselves  aloof  from  provincial  gossip,  belong  to  no  clique, 
live  quietly  in  retirement,  and  maintain  a  dignified  reserve. 
M.  de  Pimentel  and  M.  de  Rastignac,  for  instance,  were  ad- 
dressed by  their  names  in  full,  and  no  length  of  acquaintance 
had  brought  their  wives  and  daughters  into  the  select  coterie 
of  Angouleme  ;  both  families  were  too  nearly  connected  with 
the  court  to  compromise  themselves  through  provincial  follies. 

The  prefect  and  the  general  in  command  of  the  garrison 
were  the  last  comers,  and  with  them  came  the  country  gentle- 
man who  had  brought  the  treatise  on  silk-worms  to  David 
that  very  morning.  Evidently  he  was  the  mayor  of  some 
canton  or  other,  and  a  fine  estate  was  his  sufficient  title  to 
gentility;  but  from  his  appearance  it  was  plain  that  he  was 
quite  unused  to  polite  society.  He  looked  uneasy  in  his 
clothes,  he  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  do  with  his  hands, 
he  shifted  about  from  one  foot  to  another  as  he  spoke,  and 
half  rose  and  sat  down  again  when  anybody  spoke  to  him. 
He  seemed  ready  to  do  some  menial  service  ;  he  was  obse- 
quious, nervous,  and  grave  by  turns,  laughing  eagerly  at  every 
joke,  listening  with  servility ;  and  occasionally  imagining  that 


92  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

people  were  laughing  at  him,  he  assumed  a  knowing  air.  His 
treatise  weighed  upon  his  mind  ;  again  and  again  he  tried  to 
talk  about  silkworms  ;  but  the  luckless  wight  happened  first 
upon  M.  de  Bartas,  who  talked  music  in  reply,  and  next  on 
M.  de  Saintot,  who  quoted  Cicero  to  him  ;  and  not  until  the 
evening  was  half  over  did  the  mayor  meet  with  sympathetic 
listeners  in  Mme.  and  Mile,  du  Brossard,  a  widowed  gentle- 
woman and  her  daughter. 

Mme.  and  Mile,  du  Brossard  were  not  the  least  interesting 
persons  in  the  clique,  but  their  story  may  be  told  in  a  single 
phrase — they  were  as  poor  as  they  were  noble.  In  their  dress 
there  was  just  that  tinge  of  pretension  which  betrays  carefully 
hidden  penury.  The  daughter,  a  big,  heavy  young  woman 
of  seven-and-twenty,  was  supposed  to  be  a  good  performer  on 
the  piano,  and  her  mother  praised  her  in  season  and  out  of 
season  in  the  clumsiest  way.  No  eligible  man  had  any  taste 
which  Camille  did  not  share  on  her  mother's  authoritative 
statement.  Mme.  du  Brossard,  in  her  anxiety  to  establish  her 
child,  was  capable  of  saying  that  her  dear  Camille  liked  noth- 
ing so  much  as  a  roving  life  from  one  garrison  town  to  an- 
other ;  and,  before  the  evening  was  out,  that  she  was  sure  her 
dear  Camille  liked  a  quiet  country  farmhouse  existence  of  all 
things.  Mother  and  daughter  had  the  pinched  subacid  dig- 
nity characteristic  of  those  who  have  learned  by  experience 
the  exact  value  of  expressions  of  sympathy ;  they  belonged  to 
a  class  which  the  world  delights  to  pity ;  they  had  been  the 
objects  of  the  benevolent  interest  of  egoism  ;  they  had  sounded 
the  empty  void  beneath  the  consoling  formulas  with  which 
the  world  ministers  to  the  necessities  of  the  unfortunate. 

M.  de  Severac  was  fifty-nine  years  old  and  a  childless  wid- 
ower. Mother  and  daughter  listened,  therefore,  with  devout 
admiration  to  all  that  he  told  them  about  his  silkworm 
nurseries. 

"My  daughter  has  always  been  fond  of  animals,"  said  the 
mother.  "And  as  women  are  especially  interested  in  the 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  93 

silk  which  the  little  creatures  produce,  I  shall  ask  permis- 
sion to  go  over  to  Severac,  so  that  my  Camille  may  see 
how  the  silk  is  spun.  My  Camille  is  so  intelligent,  she 
will  grasp  anything  that  you  tell  her  in  a  moment.  Did 
she  not  understand  one  day  the  inverse  ratio  of  the  squares 
of  distances !  " 

This  was  the  remark  that  brought  the  conversation  between 
Mme.  du  Brossard  and  M.  de  Severac  to  a  glorious  close  after 
Lucien's  reading  that  night. 

A  few  habitues  slipped  in  familiarly  among  the  rest,  so  did 
one  or  two  eldest  sons  ;  shy,  mute  young  men  tricked  out  in 
gorgeous  jewelry,  and  highly  honored  by  an  invitation  to  this 
literary  solemnity,  the  boldest  man  among  them  so  far  shook 
off  the  weight  of  awe  as  to  chatter  a  good  deal  with  Mile,  de 
la  Haye.  The  women  solemnly  arranged  themselves  in  a 
circle,  and  the  men  stood  behind  them.  It  was  a  quaint 
assemblage  of  wrinkled  countenances  and  heterogeneous  cos- 
tumes, but  none  the  less  it  seemed  very  alarming  to  Lucien, 
and  his  heart  beat  fast  when  he  felt  that  every  one  was  looking 
at  him.  His  assurance  bore  the  ordeal  with  some  difficulty  in 
spite  of  the  encouraging  example  of  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  who 
welcomed  the  most  illustrious  personages  of  Angoulgme  with 
ostentatious  courtesy  and  elaborate  graciousness ;  and  the  un- 
comfortable feeling  that  oppressed  him  was  aggravated  by  a 
trifling  matter  which  any  one  might  have  foreseen,  though  it 
was  bound  to  come  as  an  unpleasant  shock  to  a  young  man 
with  so  little  experience  of  the  world.  Lucien,  all  eyes  and 
ears,  noticed  that  no  one  except  Louise,  M.  de  Bargeton,  the 
bishop,  and  some  few  who  wished  to  please  the  mistress  of 
the  house,  spoke  of  him  as  M.  de  Rubempre ;  for  his  formida- 
ble audience  he  was  M.  Chardon.  Lucien's  courage  sank 
under  their  inquisitive  eyes.  He  could  read  his  plebeian 
name  in  the  mere  movements  of  their  lips,  and  hear  the  an- 
ticipatory criticisms  made  in  the  blunt,  provincial  fashion 
that  too  often  borders  on  rudeness.  He  had  not  expected 


94  LOST  ILL USIONS. 

this  prolonged  ordeal  of  pin-pricks ;  it  put  him  still  more  out 
of  humor  with  himself.  He  grew  impatient  to  begin  the 
reading,  for  then  he  could  assume  an  attitude  which  should 
put  an  end  to  his  mental  torments ;  but  Jacques  was  giving 
Mme.  de  Pimentel  the  history  of  his  last  day's  sport;  Adrien 
was  holding  forth  to  Mile.  Laure  de  Rastignac  on  Rossini, 
the  newly  risen  musical  star ;  and  Astolphe,  who  had  gotten 
by  heart  a  newspaper  paragraph  on  a  patent  plow,  was  giving 
the  Baron  the  benefit  of  the  description.  Lucien,  luckless 
poet  that  he  was,  did  not  know  that  there  was  scarce  a  soul 
in  the  room  beside  Mme.  de  Bargeton  who  could  understand 
poetry.  The  whole  matter-of-fact  assembly  was  there  by  a 
misapprehension,  nor  did  they,  for  the  most  part,  know  what 
they  had  come  out  for  to  see.  There  are  some  words  that 
draw  a  public  as  unfailingly  as  the  clash  of  cymbals,  the  trum- 
pet, or  the  mountebank's  big  drum;  "beauty,"  "glory," 
"poetry,"  are  words  that  bewitch  the  coarsest  intellect. 

When  every  one  had  arrived  ;  when  the  buzz  of  talk  ceased 
after  repeated  efforts  on  the  part  of  M.  de  Bargeton,  who, 
obedient  to  his  wife,  went  round  the  room  much  as  the  beadle 
makes  the  circuit  of  the  church,  tapping  the  pavement  with 
his  wand ;  when  silence,  in  fact,  was  at  last  secured,  Lucien 
went  to  the  round  table  near  Mme.  de  Bargeton.  A  fierce 
thrill  of  excitement  ran  through  him  as  he  did  so.  He  an- 
nounced in  an  uncertain  voice  that,  to  prevent  disappoint- 
ment, he  was  about  to  read  the  masterpieces  of  a  great  poet, 
discovered  only  recently  (for  although  Andre  de  Chdnier's 
poems  appeared  in  1819,  no  one  in  Angouleme  had  so  much 
as  heard  of  him).  Everybody  interpreted  this  announcement 
in  one  way — it  was  a  shift  of  Mme.  de  Bargeton's,  meant  to 
save  the  poet's  self-love  and  to  put  the  audience  at  ease. 

Lucien  began  with  "Le  Malade,"  and  the  poem  was  re- 
ceived with  a  murmur  of  applause ;  but  he  followed  it  with 
"  L'Aveugle,"  which  proved  too  great  a  strain  upon  the 
average  intellect.  None  but  artists  or  those  endowed  with 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  95 

the  artistic  temperament  can  understand  and  sympathize  with 
him  in  the  diabolical  torture  of  that  reading.  If  poetry  is  to 
be  rendered  by  the  voice,  and  if  the  listener  is  to  grasp  all  that 
it  means,  the  most  devout  attention  is  essential ;  there  should 
be  an  intimate  alliance  between  the  reader  and  his  audience, 
or  swift  and  subtle  communication  of  the  poet's  thought  and 
feeling  becomes  impossible.  Here  this  close  sympathy  was 
lacking,  and  Lucien  in  consequence  was  in  the  position  of  an 
angel  who  should  endeavor  to  sing  of  heaven  amid  the  chuck- 
lings  of  hell.  An  intelligent  man  in  the  sphere  most  stimu- 
lating to  his  faculties  can  see  in  every  direction  like  a  snail ; 
he  has  the  keen  scent  of  a  dog,  the  ears  of  a  mole ;  he  can 
hear,  and  feel,  and  see  all  that  is  going  on  around  him.  A 
musician  or  a  poet  knows  at  once  whether  his  audience  is 
listening  in  admiration  or  fails  to  follow  him,  and  feels  it  as 
the  plant  that  revives  or  droops  under  favorable  or  unfavorable 
conditions.  The  men  who  had  come  with  their  wives  had 
fallen  to  discussing  their  own  affairs;  by  the  acoustic  law 
before  mentioned,  every  murmur  rang  in  Lucien's  ear;  he  saw 
all  the  gaps  caused  by  the  spasmodic  workings  of  jaws  sympa- 
thetically affected,  the  teeth  that  seemed  to  grin  defiance  at 
him. 

When,  like  the  dove  in  the  deluge,  he  looked  round  for  any 
spot  on  which  his  eyes  might  rest,  he  saw  nothing  but  rows  of 
impatient  faces.  Their  owners  clearly  were  waiting  for  him 
to  make  an  end  ;  they  had  come  together  to  discuss  questions 
of  practical  interest.  With  the  exceptions  of  Laure  de  Ras- 
tignac,  the  bishop,  and  two  or  three  of  the  younger  men,  they 
one  and  all  looked  bored.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  those  who 
understand  poetry  strive  to  develop  the  germs  of  another 
poetry,  quickened  within  them  by  the  poet's  poetry;  but  this 
glacial  audience,  so  far  from  attaining  to  the  spirit  of  the  poet, 
did  not  even  listen  to  the  letter. 

Lucien  felt  profoundly  discouraged  ;  he  was  damp  with  chilly 
perspiration;  a  glowing  glance  from  Louise,  to  whom  he 


96  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

turned,  gave  him  courage  to  persevere  to  the  end,  but  his 
poet's  heart  was  bleeding  from  countless  wounds. 

"Do  you  find  this  very  amusing,  Fifine?''  inquired  the 
weazened  Lili,  who  perhaps  had  expected  some  kind  of  gym- 
nastics. 

"  Don't  ask  me  what  I  think,  dear  ;  I  cannot  keep  my  eyes 
open  when  any  one  begins  to  read  aloud." 

"  I  hope  that  Na'is  will  not  give  us  poetry  often  in  the  even- 
ings," said  Francis.  "  If  I  am  obliged  to  attend  while  some- 
body reads  aloud  after  dinner,  it  upsets  my  digestion." 

"  Poor  dearie,"  whispered  Zephirine,  "  take  a  glass  of  can 
sucree. ' ' 

"It  was  very  well  declaimed,"  said  Alexandre,  ''but  I  like 
whist  better  myself." 

After  this  dictum,  which  passed  muster  as  a  joke  from  the 
play  on  the  word  "whist,"  several  card-players  were  of  the 
opinion  that  the  reader's  voice  needed  a  rest,  and  on  this 
pretext  one  or  two  couples  slipped  away  into  the  card-room. 
But  Louise,  and  the  bishop,  and  pretty  Laure  de  Rastignac 
besought  Lucien  to  continue,  and  this  time  he  caught  the 
attention  of  his  audience  with  Chenier's  spirited  reactionary 
"lambes."  Several  persons,  carried  away  with  his  impas- 
sioned delivery,  applauded  the  reading  without  understanding 
the  sense.  People  of  this  sort  are  impressed  by  vociferation, 
as  a  coarse  palate  is  tickled  by  strong  spirits. 

During  an  interval,  as  they  partook  of  ices,  Zephirine  dis- 
patched Francis  to  examine  the  volume,  and  informed  her 
neighbor  Amelie  that  the  poetry  was  in  print. 

Amelie  brightened  visibly. 

"Why,  that  is  easily  explained,"  said  she.  "Monsieur  de 
Rubempre  works  for  a  printer.  It  is  as  if  a  pretty  woman 
should  make  her  own  dresses,"  she  added,  looking  at  Lolotte. 

"  He  printed  his  poetry  himself!  "  said  the  women  among 
themselves. 

"  Then,  why  does  he  call  himself  Monsieur  de  Rubempr<§  ?" 


LOST  ILL USIONS.  97 

inquired  Jacques.  "If  a  noble  takes  a  handicraft,  he  ought 
to  lay  his  name  aside." 

"So  he  did  as  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  Zizine,  "but  his 
name  was  plebeian,  and  he  took  his  mother's  name,  which  is 
noble." 

"  Well,  if  his  verses  are  printed,  we  can  read  them  for  our- 
selves," said  Astolphe. 

This  piece  of  stupidity  complicated  the  question,  until 
Sixte  du  Chatelet  condescended  to  inform  these  unlettered  folk 
that  the  prefatory  announcement  was  no  oratorical  flourish, 
but  a  statement  of  fact,  and  added  that  the  poems  had  been 
written  by  a  royalist  brother  of  Marie-Joseph  Chenier,  the 
revolutionary  leader.  All  Angouldme,  except  Mme.  de  Ras- 
tignac  and  her  two  daughters  and  the  bishop,  who  had  really 
felt  the  grandeur  of  the  poetry,  were  mystified,  and  took 
offense  at  the  hoax.  There  was  a  smothered  murmur,  but 
Lucien  did  not  heed  it.  The  intoxication  of  the  poetry  was 
upon  him  ;  he  was  far  away  from  the  hateful  world,  striving 
to  render  in  speech  the  music  that  filled  his  soul,  seeing  the 
faces  about  him  through  a  cloudy  haze.  He  read  the  sombre 
"Elegy  on  the  Suicide,"  lines  in  the  taste  of  a  bygone  day, 
pervaded  by  sublime  melancholy  ;  then  he  turned  to  the  page 
where  the  line  occurs,  "Thy  songs  are  sweet,  I  love  to  say 
them  over,"  and  ended  with  the  delicate  idyll  "  N6ere." 

Mme.  de  Bargeton  sat  with  one  hand  buried  in  her  curls, 
heedless  of  the  havoc  she  wrought  among  them,  gazing  before 
her  with  unseeing  eyes,  alone  in  her  drawing-room,  lost  in 
delicious  dreaming ;  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  had  been 
transported  to  the  sphere  which  was  hers  by  right  of  nature. 
Judge,  therefore,  how  unpleasantly  she  was  disturbed  by 
Amelie,  who  now  took  it  upon  herself  to  express  the  general 
wish. 

"NaTs,"  this  voice  broke  in,  "we  came  to  hear  Monsieur 
Chardon's  poetry,  and  you  are  giving  us  poetry  out  of  a  book. 
The  extracts  are  very  nice,  but  the  ladies  feel  a  patriotic 
7 


98  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

preference  for  the  wine  of  the  country;  they  would  rather 
have  it." 

"The  French  language  does  not  lend  itself  very  readily  to 
poetry,  does  it?"  Astolphe  remarked  to  Chatelet.  "  Cicero's 
prose  is  a  thousand  times  more  poetical  to  my  way  of  thinking." 

"The  true  poetry  of  France  is  song,  lyric  verse,"  Chatelet 
answered. 

"  Which  proves  that  our  language  is  eminently  adapted  for 
music,"  said  Adrien. 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to  hear  the  poetry  that  has  cost 
NaYs  her  reputation,"  said  Z6phirine;  "but  after  receiving 
Amelie' s  request  in  such  a  way,  it  is  not  very  likely  that  she 
will  give  us  a  specimen." 

"  She  ought  to  have  them  recited  in  justice  to  herself,"  said 
Francis.  "  The  little  fellow's  genius  is  his  sole  justification." 

"  You  have  been  in  the  diplomatic  service,"  said  Amelie 
to  M.  du  Chatelet,  "  go  and  manage  it  somehow." 

"Nothing  easier,"  said  the  Baron. 

The  Princess'  private  secretary,  being  accustomed  to  petty 
manoeuvres  of  this  kind,  went  to  the  bishop  and  contrived  to 
bring  him  to  the  fore.  At  the  bishop's  entreaty,  NaYs  had  no 
choice  but  to  ask  Lucien  to  recite  his  own  verses  for  them, 
and  the  Baron  received  a  languishing  smile  from  Amelie  as 
the  reward  of  his  prompt  success. 

"Decidedly,  the  Baron  is  a  very  clever  man,"  she  observed 
to  Lolotte. 

But  Amdlie's  previous  acidulous  remark  about  women  who 
made  their  own  dresses  rankled  in  Lolotte's  mind. 

"  Since  when  have  you  begun  to  recognize  the  Emperor's 
barons?"  she  asked,  smiling. 

Lucien  had  essayed  to  deify  his  beloved  in  an  ode,  dedi- 
cated to  her  under  a  title  in  favor  with  all  lads  who  write  verse 
after  leaving  school.  This  ode,  so  fondly  cherished,  so  beauti- 
ful— since  it  was  the  outpouring  of  all  the  love  in  his  heart, 
seemed  to  him  to  be  the  one  piece  of  his  own  work  that  could 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  99 

hold  its  own  with  Chenier's  verse;  and,  with  a  tolerably 
fatuous  glance  at  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  he  announced  "To 
HER  !  "  He  struck  an  attitude  proudly  for  the  delivery  of 
the  ambitious  piece,  for  his  author's  self-love  felt  safe  and 
at  ease  behind  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  petticoat.  And  at  the 
selfsame  moment  Mme.  de  Bargeton  betrayed  her  own  secret 
to  the  women's  curious  eyes.  Although  she  had  always  looked 
down  upon  this  audience  from  her  own  loftier  intellectual 
heights,  she  could  not  help  trembling  for  Lucien.  Her  face 
was  troubled,  there  was  a  sort  of  mute  appeal  for  indulgence 
in  her  glances,  and  while  the  verses  were  recited  she  was 
obliged  to  lower  her  eyes  and  dissemble  her  pleasure  as  stanza 
followed  stanza. 

TO  HER. 

Out  of  the  glowing  heart  of  the  torrent  of  glory  and  light, 

At  the  foot  of  Jehovah's  throne  where  the  angels  stand  afar, 
Each  on  a  seistron  of  gold  repeating  the  prayers  of  the  night, 
Put  up  for  each  by  his  star. 

Out  from  the  cherubim  choir  a  bright-haired  Angel  springs, 
Veiling  the  glory  of  God  that  dwells  on  a  dazzling  brow, 
Leaving  the  courts  of  heaven  to  sink  upon  silver  wings 
Down  to  our  world  below. 

God  looked  in  pity  on  earth,  and  the  Angel,  reading  His  thought, 

Came  down  to  lull  the  pain  of  the  mighty  spirit  at  strife 
Reverent  bent  o'er  the  maid,  and  for  age  left  desolate  brought 
Flowers  of  the  springtime  of  life. 

Bringing  a  dream  of  hope  to  solace  the  mother's  fears, 

Hearkening  unto  the  voice  of  the  tardy  repentant  cry, 
Glad  as  angels  are  glad,  to  reckon  Earth's  pitying  tears, 
Given  with  alms  of  a  sigh. 

One  there  is,  and  but  one,  bright  messenger  sent  from  the  skies, 

Whom  earth  like  a  lover  fain  would  hold  from  the  heav'nward  flight ; 
But  the  angel,  weeping,  turns  and  gazes  with  sad,  sweet  eyes 
Up  to  the  heaven  of  light. 


100  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Not  by  the  radiant  eyes,  not  by  the  kindling  glow 

Of  virtue  sent  from  God,  did  1  know  the  secret  sign, 
Nor  read  the  token  set  on  a  white  and  dazzling  brow 
Of  an  origin  divine. 

Nay,  it  was  Love  grown  blind  and  dazed  with  excess  of  light 
Striving  and  striving  in  vain  to  mingle  Earth  and  Heaven, 
Helpless  and  powerless  against  the  invincible  armor  bright 
By  the  dread  archangel  given. 

Ah !  be  wary,  take  heed,  lest  aught  should  be  seen  or  heard 

Of  the  shining  seraph  band,  as  they  take  the  heavenward  way; 
Too  soon  the  Angel  on  Earth  will  learn  the  magical  word 
Sung  at  the  close  of  the  day. 

Then  you  shall  see  afar,  rifting  the  darkness  of  night, 
A  gleam  as  of  dawn  that  spreads  across  the  starry  floor, 

And  the  seamen  that  watch  for  a  sign  shall  mark  the  track  of  their  flight, 
A  luminous  pathway  in  Heaven  and  a  beacon  for  evermore. 

"Do  you  read  the  riddle?"  said  Amelie,  giving  M.  du 
Chitelet  a  coquettish  glance. 

"  It  is  the  sort  of  stuff  that  we  all  of  us  wrote  more  or  less 
after  we  left  school,"  said  the  Baron  with  a  bored  expression 
— he  was  acting  his  part  of  arbiter  of  taste  who  has  seen  every- 
thing. "  We  used  to  deal  in  Ossianic  mists,  Malvinas  and 
Fingals  ajid  cloudy  shapes,  and  warriors  who  got  out  of  their 
tombs  with  stars  above  their  heads.  Nowadays  this  poetical 
frippery  has  been  replaced  by  Jehovah,  angels,  seistrons,  the 
plumes  of  seraphim,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  paradise 
freshened  up  with  a  few  new  words  such  as  '  immense,  infinite, 
solitude,  intelligence ; '  you  have  lakes,  and  the  words  of 
the  Almighty,  a  kind  of  Christianized  pantheism,  enriched 
with  the  most  extraordinary  and  unheard-of  rhymes.  We  are 
in  quite  another  latitude,  in  fact ;  we  have  left  the  North  for 
the  East,  but  the  darkness  is  just  as  thick  as  before." 

"  If  the  ode  is  obscure,  the  declaration  is  very  clear,  it 
seems  to  me,"  said  Zephirine. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  101 

"  And  the  archangel's  armor  is  a  tolerably  thin  gauze  robe," 
said  Francis. 

Politeness  demanded  that  the  audience  should  profess  to  be 
enchanted  with  the  poem  ;  and  the  women,  furious  because 
they  had  no  poets  in  their  train  to  extol  them  as  angels,  rose, 
looked  bored  by  the  reading,  murmuring,  "Very  nice!" 
"  Charming  !  "  "  Perfect !  "  with  frigid  coldness. 

"  If  you  love  me,  do  not  congratulate  the  poet  or  his  angel," 
Lolotte  laid  her  commands  on  her  dear  Adrien  in  imperious 
tones  ;  and  Adrien  was  fain  to  obey. 

"  Empty  words,  after  all,"  Zephirine  remarked  to  Francis, 
"  and  love  is  a  poem  that  we  live." 

"  You  have  just  expressed  the  very  thing  that  I  was  think- 
ing, Zizine,  but  I  should  not  have  put  it  so  neatly,"  said 
Stanislas,  scanning  himself  from  top  to  toe  with  loving  atten- 
tion. 

"  I  would  give,  I  don't  know  how  much,  to  see  Nals' 
pride  brought  down  a  bit,"  said  Amelie,  addressing  Chatelet. 
"  Na'i's  sets  up  to  be  an  archangel  as  if  she  were  better  than 
the  rest  of  us,  and  mixes  us  up  with  low  people ;  his  father 
was  an  apothecary  and  his  mother  is  a  nurse  ;  his  sister  works 
in  a  laundry,  and  he  himself  is  a  printer's  foreman." 

"  If  his  father  sold  biscuits  for  worms  "  (vers),  said  Jacques, 
"  he  ought  to  have  made  his  son  take  them." 

"  He  is  continuing  in  his  father's  line  of  business,  for  the 
stuff  that  he  has  just  been  reading  to  us  is  a  drug  in  the  market, 
it  seems,"  said  Stanislas,  striking  one  of  his  most  killing  atti- 
tudes. "  Drug  for  drug,  I  would  rather  have  something  else." 

Every  one  apparently  combined  to  humiliate  Lucien  by 
various  aristocrats'  sarcasms.  Lili  the  religious  thought  it  a 
charitable  deed  to  use  any  means  of  enlightening  Nafs,  and 
Na'i's  was  on  the  brink  of  a  piece  of  folly.  Francis  the  diplo- 
matist undertook  the  direction  of  the  silly  conspiracy;  every 
one  was  interested  in  the  progress  of  the  drama ;  it  would  be 
something  to  talk  about  to-morrow.  The  ex-consul,  being  far 


102  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

from  anxious  to  engage  in  a  duel  with  a  young  poet  who 
would  fly  into  a  rage  at  the  first  hint  of  insult  under  his  lady's 
eyes,  was  wise  enough  to  see  that  the  only  way  of  dealing 
Lucien  his  death-blow  was  by  the  spiritual  arm  which  was  safe 
from  vengeance.  He  therefore  followed  the  example  set  by 
Ch&telet  the  astute,  and  went  to  the  bishop.  Him  he  pro- 
ceeded to  mystify. 

He  told  the  bishop  that  Lucien's  mother  was  a  woman  of 
uncommon  powers  and  great  modesty,  and  that  it  was  she 
who  found  the  subjects  for  her  son's  verses.  Nothing  pleased 
Lucien  so  much,  according  to  the  guileful  Francis,  as  any 
recognition  of  her  talents — he  worshiped  his  mother.  Then, 
having  inculcated  these  notions,  he  left  the  rest  to  time. 
His  lordship  was  sure  to  bring  out  the  insulting  illusion,  for 
which  he  had  been  so  carefully  prepared,  in  the  course  of 
conversation. 

When  Francis  and  the  bishop  joined  the  little  group  where 
Lucien  stood,  the  circle  who  gave  him  the  cup  of  hemlock  to 
drain  by  little  sips  watched  him  with  redoubled  interest. 
The  poet,  luckless  young  man,  being  a  total  stranger,  and 
unaware  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  house,  could  only 
look  at  Mme.  de  Bargeton  and  give  embarrassed  answers  to 
embarrassing  questions.  He  knew  neither  the  names  nor  con- 
dition of  the  people  about  him  ;  the  women's  silly  speeches 
made  him  blush  for  them,  and  he  was  at  his  wits'  end  for  a 
reply.  He  felt,  moreover,  how  very  far  removed  he  was  from 
these  divinities  of  Angouleme  when  he  heard  himself  ad- 
dressed sometimes  as  M.  Chardon,  sometimes  as  M.  du  Rubem- 
pr6,  while  they  all  addressed  each  other  as  as  Lolotte,  Adrien, 
Astolphe,  Lili,  and  Fifine.  His  confusion  rose  to  a  height 
when,  taking  Lili  for  a  man's  surname,  he  addressed  the 
coarse  M.  de  Senonches  as  M.  Lili ;  that  Nimrod  broke  in 
upon  him  with  a  " Monsieur  Lulu  ?"*  and  Mme.  de  Bargeton 
flushed  red  to  the  eyes. 

*  A  pet  name  for  Louise. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  103 

"  A  woman  must  be  blind  indeed  to  bring  this  little  fellow 
among  us  !  "  muttered  Senonches. 

Zephirine  turned  to  speak  to  the  Marquise  de  Pimentel — 
"  Do  you  not  see  a  strong  likeness  between  Monsieur  Chardon 
and  Monsieur  de  Cante-Croix,  madame?"  she  asked  in  a  low 
but  quite  audible  voice. 

"The  likeness  is  ideal,"  smiled  Mme.  de  Pimentel. 

"  Glory  has  a  power  of  attraction  to  which  we  can  confess," 
said  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  addressing  the  Marquise.  "  Some 
women  are  as  much  attracted  by  greatness  as  others  by  little- 
ness," she  added,  looking  at  Francis. 

This  was  beyond  Zephirine's  comprehension  ;  she  thought 
her  consul  a  very  great  man  ;  but  the  Marquise  laughed,  and 
her  laughter  ranged  her  on  Na'is'  side. 

"You  are  very  fortunate,  monsieur,"  said  the  Marquis  de 
Pimentel,  addressing  Lucien  for  the  purpose  of  calling  him 
M.  de  Rubempre,  and  not  M.  Chardon,  as  before;  "you 
should  never  find  time  heavy  on  your  hands." 

"  Do  you  work  quickly  ?  "  asked  Lolotte,  much  in  the  way 
that  she  would  have  asked  a  joiner  "  if  it  took  long  to  make 
a  box." 

The  bludgeon  stroke  stunned  Lucien,  but  he  raised  his  head 
at  Mme.  de  Bargeton 's  reply — 

"  My  dear,  poetry  does  not  grow  in  Monsieur  de  Rubem- 
pre's  head  like  grass  in  our  courtyards." 

"  Madame,  we  cannot  feel  too  reverently  toward  the  noble 
spirits  in  whom  God  has  set  some  ray  of  this  light,"  said  the 
bishop,  addressing  Lolotte.  "  Yes,  poetry  is  something  holy. 
Poetry  implies  suffering.  How  many  silent  nights  those  verses 
that  you  admire  have  cost !  We  should  bow  in  love  and  rev- 
erence before  the  poet ;  his  life  here  is  almost  always  a  life 
of  sorrow ;  but  God  doubtless  reserves  a  place  in  heaven  for 
him  among  His  prophets.  This  young  man  is  a  poet,"  he 
added,  laying  a  hand  on  Lucien's  head  ;  "do  you  not  see  the 
sign  of  Fate  set  on  that  high  forehead  of  his  ?  " 


104  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Glad  to  be  so  generously  championed,  Lucien  made  his 
acknowledgments  in  a  grateful  look,  not  knowing  that  the 
worthy  prelate  was  to  deal  his  death-blow. 

Mme.  de  Bargeton's  eyes  traveled  round  the  hostile  circle. 
Her  glances  went  like  arrows  to  the  depths  of  her  rivals' 
hearts,  and  left  them  twice  as  furious  as  before. 

"Ah,  monseigneur,"  cried  Lucien,  hoping  to  break  thick 
heads  with  his  golden  sceptre,  "but  ordinary  people  have 
neither  your  intellect  nor  your  charity.  No  one  heeds  our 
sorrows,  our  toil  is  unrecognized.  The  gold-digger  working 
in  the  mine  does  not  labor  as  we  to  wrest  metaphors  from  the 
heart  of  the  most  ungrateful  of  all  languages.  If  this  is 
poetry — to  give  ideas  such  definite  and  clear  expressions  that 
all  the  world  can  see  and  understand — the  poet  must  continu- 
ally range  through  the  entire  scale  of  human  intellects,  so  that 
he  can  satisfy  the  demands  of  all ;  he  must  conceal  hard  think- 
ing and  emotion,  two  antagonistic  powers,  beneath  the  most 
vivid  color ;  he  must  know  how  to  make  one  word  cover  a 
whole  world  of  thought ;  he  must  give  the  results  of  whole 
systems  of  philosophy  in  a  few  picturesque  lines  ;  indeed,  his 
songs  are  like  seeds  that  must  break  into  blossom  in  other 
hearts  wherever  they  find  the  soil  prepared  by  personal  exper- 
ience. How  can  you  express  unless  you  first  have  felt  ?  And 
is  not  passion  suffering?  Poetry  is  only  brought  forth  after 
painful  wanderings  in  the  vast  regions  of  thought  and  life. 
There  are  men  and  women  in  books  who  seem  more  really 
alive  to  us  than  men  and  women  who  have  lived  and  died — 
Richardson's  Clarissa,  Ch£nier's  Camille,  the  Delia  of  Tibul- 
lus,  Ariosto's  Angelica,  Dante's  Francesca,  Moliere's  Alceste, 
Beaumarchais'  Figaro,  Scott's  Rebecca  the  Jewess,  the  Don 
Quixote  of  Cervantes — do  we  not  owe  these  deathless  crea- 
tions to  immortal  throes?  " 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  create  for  us?"  asked 
Chatelet. 

"  If  I  were  to  announce  such  conceptions,  I  should  give 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  105 

myself  out  for  a  man  of  genius,  should  I  not?"  answered 
Lucien.  "And,  beside,  such  sublime  creations  demand  a 
long  experience  of  the  world  and  a  study  of  human  passion 
and  interests  which  I  could  not  possibly  have  made ;  but  I 
have  made  a  beginning,"  he  added,  with  bitterness  in  his 
tone,  as  he  took  a  vengeful  glance  round  the  circle;  "the 
time  of  gestation  is  long " 

"  Then  it  will  be  a  case  of  difficult  labor,"  interrupted  M. 
du  Hautoy. 

"Your  excellent  mother  might  assist  you,"  suggested  the 
bishop. 

The  epigram,  innocently  made  by  the  good  prelate,  the 
long-looked-for  revenge,  kindled  a  gleam  of  delight  in  all 
eyes.  The  smile  of  satisfied  caste  that  traveled  from  mouth 
to  mouth  was  aggravated  by  M.  de  Bargeton's  imbecility; 
he  burst  into  a  laugh,  as  usual,  some  moments  later. 

"  Monseigneur,  you  are  talking  a  little  above  our  heads ; 
these  ladies  do  not  understand  your  meaning,"  said  Mme.  de 
Bargeton,  and  the  words  paralyzed  the  laughter,  and  drew 
astonished  eyes  upon  her.  "  A  poet  who  looks  to  the  Bible 
for  his  inspiration  has  a  mother  indeed  in  the  church.  Mon- 
sieur de  Rubempre,  will  you  recite  '  Saint  John  in  Patmos ' 
for  us,  or  '  Belshazzar's  Feast,'  so  that  his  lordship  may  see 
that  Rome  is  still  the  '  Magna  Parens  '  of  Virgil  ?  " 

The  women  exchanged  smiles  at  the  Latin  words. 

The  bravest  and  highest  spirits  know  times  of  prostration 
at  the  outset  of  life.  Lucien  had  sunk  to  the  depths  at  the 
blow,  but  he  struck  the  bottom  with  his  feet,  and  rose  to  the 
surface  again,  vowing  to  subjugate  this  little  world.  He  rose 
like  a  bull,  stung  to  fury  by  a  shower  of  darts,  and  prepared 
to  obey  Louise  by  declaiming  "  Saint  John  in  Patmos;  "  but 
by  this  time  the  card-tables  had  claimed  their  complement  of 
players,  who  returned  to  the  accustomed  groove  to  find  amuse- 
ment there  which  poetry  had  not  afforded  them.  They  felt, 
beside,  that  the  revenge  of  so  many  outraged  vanities  would 


106  LOST  ILLUSIONS, 

be  incomplete  unless  it  were  followed  up  by  contemptuous 
indifference ;  so  they  showed  their  tacit  disdain  for  the  native 
product  by  leaving  Lucien  and  Mme.  de  Bargeton  to  them- 
selves. Every  one  appeared  to  be  absorbed  in  his  own  affairs; 
one  chattered  with  the  prefect  about  a  new  cross-road,  another 
proposed  to  vary  the  pleasures  of  the  evening  with  a  little 
music.  The  great  world  of  Angoulgme,  feeling  that  it  was 
no  judge  of  poetry,  was  very  anxious,  in  the  first  place,  to 
hear  the  verdict  of  the  Pimentels  and  Rastignacs,  and  formed 
a  little  group  about  them.  The  great  influence  wielded  in 
the  department  by  these  two  families  was  always  felt  on  every 
important  occasion ;  every  one  was  jealous  of  them,  every 
one  paid  court  to  them,  foreseeing  that  they  might  some  day 
need  that  influence. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  our  poet  and  his  poetry?  "  Jacques 
asked  of  the  Marquise.  Jacques  used  to  shoot  over  the  lands 
belonging  to  the  Pimentel  family. 

"Why,  it  is  not  bad  for  provincial  poetry,"  she  said, 
smiling;  "and,  beside,  such  a  beautiful  poet  cannot  do  any- 
thing amiss." 

Every  one  thought  the  decision  admirable ;  it  traveled  from 
lip  to  lip,  gaining  malignance  by  the  way.  Then  Chatelet 
was  called  upon  to  accompany  M.  du  Bartas  on  the  piano 
while  he  mangled  the  great  solo  from  "  Figaro  ;  "  and  the  way 
being  opened  to  music,  the  audience,  as  in  duty  bound,  listened 
while  Chatelet  in  turn  sang  one  of  Chateaubriand's  ballads,  a 
chivalrous  ditty  made  in  the  time  of  the  Empire.  Duets  fol- 
lowed, of  the  kind  usually  left  to  boarding-school  misses, 
and  rescued  from  the  schoolroom  by  Mme.  du  Brossard,  who 
meant  to  make  a  brilliant  display  of  her  dear  Camille's  talents 
for  M.  de  S6verac's  benefit. 

Mme.  de  Bargeton,  hurt  by  the  contempt  which  every  one 
showed  her  poet,  paid  back  scorn  for  scorn  by  going  to  her 
boudoir  during  these  performances.  She  was  followed  by  the 
prelate.  His  vicar-general  had  just  been  explaining  the  pro- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  107 

found  irony  of  the  epigram  into  which  he  had  been  entrapped, 
and  the  bishop  wished  to  make  amends.  Mile,  de  Rastignac, 
fascinated  by  the  poetry,  also  slipped  into  the  boudoir  without 
her  mother's  knowledge. 

Louise  drew  Lucien  to  her  mattress-cushioned  sofa;  and, 
with  no  one  to  see  or  hear,  she  murmered  in  his  ear,  "  Dear 
angel,  they  did  not  understand  you ;  but  '  Thy  songs  are 
sweet,  I  love  to  say  them  over,'  "  repeating  the  lines  from  the 
"Elegy  on  the  Suicide." 

And  Lucien  took  comfort  from  the  pretty  speech,  and 
forgot  his  woes  for  a  little. 

"  Glory  is  not  to  be  had  cheaply,"  Mme.  de  Bargeton  con- 
tinued, taking  his  hand  and  holding  it  tightly  in  her  own. 
"  Endure  your  woes,  my  friend,  you  will  be  great  one  day  ; 
your  pain  is  the  price  of  your  immortality.  If  only  I  had  a 
hard  struggle  before  me  !  God  preserve  you  from  the  ener- 
vating life  without  battles,  in  which  the  eagle's  wings  have  no 
room  to  spread  themselves.  I  envy  you ;  for  if  you  suffer,  at 
least  you  live.  You  will  put  out  our  strength,  you  will  feel 
the  hope  of  victory  ;  your  strife  will  be  glorious.  And  when 
you  shall  come  to  your  kingdom,  and  reach  the  imperial 
sphere  where  great  minds  are  enthroned,  then  remember  the 
poor  creatures  disinherited  by  fate,  whose  intellects  pine  in  an 
oppressive  moral  atmosphere,  who  die  and  have  never  lived, 
knowing  all  the  while  what  life  might  be ;  think  of  the  piercing 
eyes  that  have  seen  nothing,  the  delicate  senses  that  have  only 
known  the  scent  of  poison  flowers.  Then  tell  in  your  song 
of  plants  that  wither  in  the  depths  of  the  forest,  choked  by 
twining  growths  and  rank,  greedy  vegetation ;  plants  that 
never  have  been  kissed  by  the  sunlight,  and  die,  never  having 
put  forth  a  blossom.  It  would  be  a  terribly  gloomy  poem, 
would  it  not,  a  fanciful  subject?  What  a  sublime  poem 
might  be  made  of  the  story  of  some  daughter  of  the  desert 
transported  to  some  cold  western  clime,  calling  for  her  be- 
loved sun,  dying  of  a  grief  that  none  can  understand,  over- 


108  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

come  with  cold  and  longing.  It  would  be  an  allegory ;  many 
lives  are  like  that." 

"You  would  picture  the  spirit  which  remembers  heaven," 
said  the  bishop;  "some  one  surely  must  have  written  such  a 
poem  in  the  days  of  old ;  I  like  to  think  that  I  see  a  fragment 
of  it  in  the  Song  of  Songs." 

"  Take  that  as  your  subject,"  said  Laure  de  Rastignac,  ex- 
pressing her  artless  belief  in  Lucien's  powers. 

"The  great  sacred  poem  of  France  is  still  unwritten,"  re- 
marked the  bishop.  "  Believe  me,  glory  and  success  await 
the  man  of  talent  who  shall  work  for  religion." 

"That  task  will  be  his,"  said  Mme.  de  Bargeton  rhetori- 
cally. "  Do  you  not  see  the  first  beginnings  of  the  vision  of 
the  poem,  like  the  flame  of,  dawn,  in  his  eyes  ?  " 

"Na'is  is  treating  us  very  badly,"  said  Fifine;  "what  can 
she  be  doing?" 

"Don't  you  hear? "said  Stanislas.  "She  is  flourishing 
away,  using  big  words  that  you  cannot  make  head  or  tail  of." 

Amilie,  Fifine,  Adrien,  and  Francis  appeared  in  the  door- 
way with  Mme.  de  Rastignac,  who  came  to  look  for  her 
daughter. 

"Nai's,"  cried  the  two  ladies,  both  delighted  to  break  in 
upon  the  quiet  chat  in  the  boudoir,  "  it  would  be  very  nice  of 
you  to  come  and  play  something  for  us." 

"  My  dear  child,  Monsieur  de  Rubempre  is  just  about  to 
recite  his  '  Saint  John  in  Patmos,'  a  magnificent  biblical 
poem." 

"  Biblical !  "  echoed  Fifine  in  amazement. 

Amelie  and  Fifine  went  back  to  the  drawing-room,  taking 
the  word  back  with  them  as  food  for  laughter.  Lucien  pleaded 
a  defective  memory  and  excused  himself.  When  he  reap- 
peared, nobody  took  the  slightest  notice  of  him;  every  one 
was  chatting  or  busy  at  the  card-tables ;  the  poet's  aureola 
had  been  plucked  away  ;  the  landowners  had  no  use  for  him, 
the  more  pretentious  sort  looked  upon  him  as  an  enemy  to 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  109 

their  ignorance,  while  the  women  were  jealous  of  Mme.  de 
Bargeton,  the  Beatrice  of  this  modern  Dante,  to  use  the  vicar- 
general's  phrase,  and  looked  at  him  with  cold,  scornful  eyes. 

"  So  this  is  society  !  "  Lucien  said  to  himself  as  he  went 
down  to  L'Houmeau  by  the  steps  of  Beaulieu;  for  there  are 
times  when  we  choose  to  take  the  longest  way,  that  the  physi- 
cal exercise  of  walking  may  promote  the  flow  of  ideas. 

So  far  from  being  disheartened,  the  fury  of  repulsed  ambi- 
tion gave  Lucien  new  strength.  Like  all  those  whose  instincts 
bring  them  to  a  higher  social  sphere  which  they  reach  before 
they  can  hold  their  own  in  it,  Lucien  vowed  to  make  any 
sacrifice  to  the  end  that  he  might  remain  on  that  higher  social 
level.  One  by  one  he  drew  out  the  poisoned  shafts  on  his 
way  home,  talking  aloud  to  himself,  scoffing  at  the  fools  with 
whom  he  had  to  do,  inventing  neat  answers  to  their  idiotic 
questions,  desperately  vexed  that  the  witty  responses  occurred 
to  him  so  late  in  the  day.  By  the  time  that  he  reached  the 
Bordeaux  road,  between  the  river  and  the  foot  of  the  hill,  he 
thought  that  he  could  see  Eve  and  David  sitting  on  a  baulk 
of  timber  by  the  river  in  the  moonlight,  and  went  down  the 
footpath  toward  them. 

While  Lucien  was  hastening  to  the  torture  in  Mme.  de 
Bargeton's  rooms,  his  sister  had  changed  her  dress  for  a  gown 
of  pink  cambric  covered  with  narrow  stripes,  a  straw  hat,  and 
a  little  silk  shawl.  The  simple  costume  seemed  like  a  rich 
toilet  on  Eve,  for  she  was  one  of  those  women  whose  great 
nature  lends  stateliness  to  the  least  personal  detail ;  and  David 
felt  prodigiously  shy  of  her  now  that  she  had  changed  her 
working  dress.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
speak  of  himself;  but  now  as  he  gave  his  arm  to  this  beautiful 
girl,  and  they  walked  through  L'Houmeau  together,  he  could 
find  nothing  to  say  to  her.  Love  delights  in  such  reverent 
awe  as  icdeemed  souls  know  on  beholding  the  glory  of  God. 
So,  in  silence,  the  two  lovers  went  across  the  Bridge  of  Saint 


HO  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Anne,  and  followed  the  left  bank  of  the  Charente.  Eve  felt 
embarrassed  by  the  pause,  and  stopped  to  look  along  the  river ; 
a  joyous  shaft  of  sunset  had  turned  the  water  between  the 
bridge  and  the  new  powder  mills  into  a  sheet  of  gold. 

"  What  a  beautiful  evening  it  is !  "  she  said,  for  the  sake  of 
saying  something ;  "  the  air  is  warm  and  fresh,  and  full  of  the 
scent  of  flowers,  and  there  is  a  wonderful  sky." 

"Everything  speaks  to  our  hearts,"  said  David,  trying  to 
proceed  to  love  by  way  of  analogy.  "Those  who  love  find 
infinite  delight  in  discovering  the  poetry  of  their  own  inmost 
souls  in  every  chance  effect  of  the  landscape,  in  the  thin,  clear 
air,  in  the  scent  of  the  earth.  Nature  speaks  for  them." 

"  And  loosens  their  tongues  too,"  Eve  said  merrily.  "  You 
were  very  silent  as  we  came  through  L'Houmeau.  Do  you 
know,  I  felt  quite  uncomfortable " 

"You  looked  so  beautiful,  that  I  could  not  say  anything," 
David  answered  candidly. 

"  Then,  just  now,  I  am  not  so  beautiful  ?  "  inquired  she. 

"It  is  not  that,"  he  said;  "but  I  was  so  happy  to  have 
this  walk  alone  with  you,  that "  he  stopped  short  in  con- 
fusion, and  looked  at  the  hillside  and  the  road  to  Saintes. 

"  If  the  walk  is  any  pleasure  to  you,  I  am  delighted  ;  for  I 
owe  you  an  evening,  I  think,  when  you  have  given  up  yours 
for  me.  When  you  refused  to  go  to  Madame  de  Bargeton's, 
you  were  quite  as  generous  as  Lucien  when  he  made  the  de- 
mand at  the  risk  of  vexing  her." 

"No,  not  generous,  only  wise,"  said  David.  "And  now 
that  we  are  quite  alone  under  the  sky,  with  no  listeners  except 
the  bushes  and  the  reeds  by  the  edge  of  the  Charente,  let  me 
tell  you  about  my  anxiety  as  to  Lucien's  present  step,  dear 
Eve.  After  all  that  I  have  just  said,  I  hope  that  you  will  look 
on  my  fears  as  a  refinement  of  friendship.  You  and  your 
mother  have  done  all  that  you  could  to  put  him  above  his 
social  position  ;  but  when  you  stimulated  his  ambition,  did 
you  not  unthinkingly  condemn  him  to  a  hard  struggle  ?  How 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  Ill 

can  he  maintain  himself  in  the  society  to  which  his  tastes  in- 
cline him  ?  I  know  Lucien ;  he  likes  to  reap,  he  does  not 
like  toil ;  it  is  his  nature.  Social  claims  will  take  up  the 
whole  of  his  time,  and,  for  a  man  who  has  nothing  but  his 
brains,  time  is  capital.  He  likes  to  shine ;  society  will  stimu- 
late his  desires  until  no  money  will  satisfy  them  ;  instead  of 
earning  money,  he  will  spend  it.  You  have  accustomed  him 
to  believe  in  his  great  powers  in  fact,  but  the  world  at  large 
declines  to  believe  in  any  man's  superior  intellect  until  he  has 
achieved  some  signal  success.  Now  success  in  literature  is 
only  won  in  solitude  and  by  dogged  work.  What  will  Mad- 
ame de  Bargeton  give  your  brother  in  return  for  so  many  days 
spent  at  her  feet  ?  Lucien  has  too  much  spirit  to  accept  help 
from  her ;  and  he  cannot  afford,  as  we  know,  to  cultivate  her 
society,  twice  ruinous  as  it  is  for  him.  Sooner  or  later  that 
woman  will  throw  over  this  dear  brother  of  ours,  but  not 
before  she  has  spoiled  him  for  hard  work,  and  given  him  a 
taste  for  luxury  and  a  contempt  for  our  humdrum  life.  She 
will  develop  his  love  of  enjoyment,  his  inclination  for  idle- 
ness, that  debauches  a  poetic  soul.  Yes,  it  makes  me  tremble 
to  think  that  this  great  lady  may  make  a  plaything  of  Lucien. 
If  she  cares  for  him  sincerely  he  will  forget  everything  else 
for  her ;  or  if  she  does  not  love  him  she  will  make  him  un- 
happy, for  he  is  wild  about  her." 

"You  have  sent  a  chill  of  dread  through  my  heart,"  said 
Eve,  stopping  as  they  reached  the  weir.  "But  so  long  as 
mother  is  strong  enough  for  her  tiring  life,  so  long  as  I  live, 
we  shall  earn  enough,  perhaps,  between  us  to  keep  Lucien 
until  success  comes.  My  courage  will  never  fail,"  said  Eve, 
brightening.  "There  is  no  hardship  in  work  when  we  work 
for  one  we  love ;  it  is  not  drudgery.  It  makes  me  happy  to 
think  that  I  toil  so  much,  if  indeed  it  is  toil,  for  him.  Oh, 
do  not  be  in  the  least  afraid,  we  will  earn  money  enough  to 
send  Lucien  into  the  great  world.  There  lies  his  road  to 
success." 


112  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"  And  there  lies  his  road  to  ruin,"  returned  David.  "  Dear 
Eve,  listen  to  me.  A  man  needs  an  independent  fortune,  or 
the  sublime  cynicism  of  poverty,  for  the  slow  execution  of 
great  work.  Believe  me,  Lucien's  horror  of  privation  is  so 
great,  the  savor  of  banquets,  the  incense  of  success  is  so  sweet 
in  his  nostrils,  his  self-love  has  grown  so  much  in  Madame  de 
Bargeton's  boudoir,  that  he  will  do  anything  desperate  sooner 
than  fall  back,  and  you  will  never  earn  enough  for  his  re- 
quirements." 

"  Then  you  are  only  a  false  friend  to  him  !  "  Eve  cried  in 
despair,  "  or  you  would  not  discourage  us  in  this  way." 

"  Eve  !  Eve  !  "  cried  David,  "  if  only  I  could  be  a  brother 
to  Lucien  !  You  alone  can  give  me  that  title  ;  he  could  ac- 
cept anything  from  me  then  ;  I  should  claim  the  right  of 
devoting  my  life  to  him  with  the  love  that  hallows  your  self- 
sacrifice,  but  with  some  worldly  wisdom  too.  Eve,  my 
darling,  give  Lucien  a  store  from  which  he  need  not  blush  to 
draw  !  His  brother's  purse  will  be  like  his  own,  will  it  not  ? 
If  you  only  knew  all  my  thoughts  about  Lucien's  position  ! 
If  he  means  to  go  to  Madame  de  Bargeton's,  he  must  not  be 
my  foreman  any  longer,  poor  fellow !  He  ought  not  to  live 
in  L'Houmeau  ;  you  ought  not  to  be  a  working-girl ;  and 
your  mother  must  give  up  her  employment  as  well.  If  you 
will  consent  to  be  my  wife,  the  difficulties  will  all  be  smoothed 
away.  Lucien  might  live  on  the  second  floor  in  the  Place  du 
Murier  until  I  can  build  rooms  for  him  over  the  shed  at  the 
back  of  the  yard  (if  my  father  will  allow  it,  that  is).  And  in 
that  way  we  would  arrange  a  free  and  independent  life  for 
him.  The  wish  to  support  Lucien  will  give  me  a  better  will 
to  work  than  I  ever  should  have  had  for  myself  alone  ;  but 
it  rests  with  you  to  give  me  the  right  to  devote  myself  to 
him.  Some  day,  perhaps,  he  will  go  to  Paris,  the  only  place 
that  can  bring  out  all  that  is  in  him,  and  where  his  talents 
will  be  appreciated  and  rewarded.  Living  in  Paris  is  expen- 
sive, and  the  earnings  of  all  three  of  us  will  be  needed  for  his 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  113 

support.  And,  beside,  will  not  you  and  your  mother  need 
some  one  to  lean  upon  then  ?  Dear  Eve,  marry  me  for  love 
of  Lucien  ;  perhaps  afterward  you  will  love  me  when  you  will 
see  how  I  shall  strive  to  help  him  and  to  make  you  happy. 
We  are,  both  of  us,  equally  simple  in  our  tastes ;  we  have  few 
wants ;  Lucien's  welfare  shall  be  the  great  object  of  our  lives. 
His  heart  shall  be  our  treasure-house,  we  will  lay  up  all  our 
fortune,  and  think  and  feel  and  hope  in  him." 

"Worldly  considerations  keep  us  apart,"  said  Eve,  moved 
by  this  love  that  tried  to  explain  away  its  greatness.  "You 
are  rich  and  I  am  poor.  One  must  love  indeed  to  overcome 
such  a  difficulty." 

"  Then  you  do  not  care  enough  for  me  ?  "  cried  the  stricken 
David. 

"  But  perhaps  your  father  would  object " 

"Never  mind,"  said  David;  "if  asking  my  father  is  all 
that  is  necessary,  you  will  be  my  wife.  Eve,  my  dear  Eve, 
how  you  have  lightened  life  for  me  in  a  moment ;  and  my 
heart  has  been  very  heavy  with  thoughts  that  I  could  not 
utter,  I  did  not  know  how  to  speak  of  them.  Only  tell  me 
that  you  care  for  me  a  little,  and  I  will  take  courage  to  tell 
you  the  rest." 

"Indeed,"  she  said,  "you  make  me  quite  ashamed;  but 
confidence  for  confidence,  I  will  tell  you  this,  that  I  have  never 
thought  of  any  one  but  you  in  my  life.  I  looked  upon  you 
as  one  of  those  men  to  whom  a  woman  might  be  proud  to 
belong,  and  I  did  not  dare  to  hope  so  great  a  thing  for  my- 
self, a  penniless  working-girl  with  no  prospects." 

"  That  is  enough,  that  is  enough,"  he  answered,  sitting 
down  on  the  bar  by  the  weir,  for  they  had  gone  to  and  fro 
like  mad  creatures  over  the  same  length  of  pathway. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked,  her  voice  expressing 
for  the  first  time  a  woman's  sweet  anxiety  for  one  who  be- 
longs to  her. 

"  Nothing  but  good,"  he  answered.  "  It  is  the  sight  of  a 
8 


114  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

whole  lifetime  of  happiness  that  dazzles  me,  as  it  were ;  it  is 
overwhelming.  Why  am  I  happier  than  you?"  he  asked, 
with  a  touch  of  sadness.  "  For  I  know  that  I  am  happier." 

Eve  looked  at  David  with  mischievous,  doubtful  eyes  that 
asked  an  explanation. 

"  Dear  Eve,  I  am  taking  more  than  I  give.  So  I  shall 
always  love  you  more  than  you  love  me,  because  I  have  more 
reason  to  love.  You  are  an  angel ;  I  am  a  man." 

"I    am    not    so    learned,"    Eve    said,    smiling.      "Hove 


you " 

"As  much  as  you  love  Lucien?"  he  broke  in. 

"  Enough  to  be  your  wife,  enough  to  devote  myself  to  you, 
to  try  not  to  add  anything  to  your  burdens,  for  we  shall  have 
some  struggles;  it  will  not  be  quite  easy  at  first." 

"  Dear  Eve,  have  you  known  that  I  loved  you  since  the  first 
day  I  saw  you?" 

"  Where  is  the  woman  who  does  not  feel  that  she  is  loved  ?  " 

"  Now  let  me  get  rid  of  your  scruples  as  to  my  imaginary 
riches.  I  am  a  poor  man,  dear.  Yes,  it  pleased  my  father 
to  ruin  me ;  he  made  a  speculation  of  me,  as  a  good  many  so- 
called  benefactors  do.  If  I  make  a  fortune,  it  will  be  entirely 
through  you.  That  is  not  a  lover's  speech,  but  sober,  serious 
earnest.  I  ought  to  tell  you  about  my  faults,  for  they  are  ex- 
ceedingly bad  ones  in  a  man  who  has  his  way  to  make.  My 
character  and  habits  and  favorite  occupations  all  unfit  me  for 
business  and  money-getting,  and  yet  we  can  only  make  money 
by  some  kind  of  industry;  if  I  have  some  faculty  for  the  dis- 
covery of  gold-mines,  I  am  singularly  ill  adapted  for  getting 
the  gold  out  of  them.  But  you  who,  for  your  brother's  sake, 
went  into  the  smallest  details,  with  a  talent  for  thrift,  and  the 
patient  watchfulness  of  the  born  man  of  business,  you  will  reap 
the  harvest  that  I  shall  sow.  The  present  state  of  things,  for 
I  have  been  like  one  of  the  family  for  a  long  time,  weighs  so 
heavily  upon  me,  that  I  have  spent  days  and  nights  in  search 
of  some  way  of  making  a  fortune.  I  know  something  of  chem- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  115 

istry,  and  a  knowledge  of  commercial  requirements  has  put 
me  on  the  scent  of  a  discovery  that  is  likely  to  pay.  I  can 
say  nothing  as  yet  about  it ;  there  will  be  a  long  while  to  wait ; 
perhaps  for  some  years  we  may  have  a  hard  time  of  it ;  but 
I  shall  find  out  how  to  make  a  commercial  article  at  last. 
Others  are  busy  making  the  same  researches,  and  if  I  am  first 
in  the  field,  we  shall  have  a  large  fortune.  I  have  said  nothing 
to  Lucien,  his  enthusiastic  nature  would  spoil  everything;  he 
would  convert  my  hopes  into  realities,  and  begin  to  live  like 
a  lord,  and  perhaps  get  into  debt.  So  keep  my  secret  for  me. 
Your  sweet  and  dear  companionship  will  be  consolation  in 
itself  during  the  long  time  of  experiment,  and  the  desire  to 
gain  wealth  for  you  and  Lucien  will  give  me  persistence  and 
tenacity " 

"I  had  guessed  this  too,"  Eve  said,  interrupting  him;  "I 
knew  that  you  were  one  of  those  inventors,  like  my  poor 
father,  who  must  have  a  woman — mother,  wife,  or  sister — to 
take  care  of  them." 

"  Then  you  love  me  !  Ah  !  say  so  without  fear  to  me,  who 
saw  a  symbol  of  my  love  for  you  in  your  name.  Eve  was  the 
one  woman  in  the  world  ;  if  it  was  true  in  the  outward  world 
for  Adam,  it  is  true  again  in  the  inner  world  of  my  heart  for 
me.  My  God  !  do  you  love  me?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  lengthening  out  the  word  as  if  to  make  it 
cover  the  extent  of  feeling  expressed  by  a  single  syllable. 

"  Well,  let  us  sit  here,"  he  said,  and  taking  Eve's  hand,  he 
went  to  a  great  baulk  of  timber  lying  below  the  wheels  of  a 
paper-mill.  "Let  me  breathe  the  evening  air,  and  hear  the 
frogs  croak,  and  watch  the  moonlight  quivering  upon  the 
river ;  let  me  take  all  this  world  about  us  into  my  soul,  for  it 
seems  to  me  that  my  happiness  is  written  large  over  it  all ;  I 
am  seeing  it  for  the  first  time  in  all  its  splendor,  lighted  up  by 
love,  grown  fair  through  you.  Eve,  dearest,  this  is  the  first 
moment  of  pure  and  unmixed  joy  that  fate  has  given  to  me ! 
I  do  not  think  that  Lucien  can  be  as  happy  as  I  am." 


116  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

David  felt  Eve's  hand,  damp  and  quivering  in  his  own, 
and  a  tear  fell  upon  it. 

"  May  I  not  know  the  secret  ?  "  she  pleaded  coaxingly  of 
her  lover. 

"  You  have  a  right  to  know  it,  for  your  father  was  inter- 
ested in  the  matter,  and  to-day  it  is  a  pressing  question,  and 
for  this  reason.  Since  the  downfall  of  the  Empire,  calico  has 
come  more  and  more  into  use,  because  it  is  so  much  cheaper 
than  linen.  At  the  present  moment  paper  is  made  of  a  mix- 
ture of  hemp  and  linen  rags,  but  the  raw  material  is  dear,  and 
the  expense  naturally  retards  the  great  advance  which  the 
French  press  is  bound  to  make.  Now  you  cannot  increase 
the  output  of  linen  rags,  a  given  population  gives  a  pretty 
constant  result,  and  it  only  increases  with  the  birth-rate.  To 
make  any  perceptible  difference  in  the  population  for  this 
purpose,  it  would  take  a  quarter  of  a  century  and  a  great  rev- 
olution in  habits  of  life,  trade,  and  agriculture.  And  if  the 
supply  of  linen  rags  is  not  enough  to  meet  one-half  nor  one- 
third  of  the  demand,  some  cheaper  material  than  linen  rags 
must  be  found  for  cheap  paper.  This  deduction  is  based  on 
facts  that  came  under  my  knowledge  here.  The  Angoul&me 
paper-makers,  the  last  to  use  pure  linen  rags,  say  that  the  pro- 
portion of  cotton  in  the  pulp  has  increased  to  a  frightful  ex- 
tent of  late  years." 

In  answer  to  a  question  from  Eve,  who  did  not  know  what 
"pulp"  meant,  David  gave  an  account  of  paper-making, 
which  will  not  be  out  of  place  in  a  volume  which  owes  its 
existence  in  book  form  to  the  paper  industry  no  less  than  to 
the  printing-press;  but  the  long  digression,  doubtless,  had 
best  be  condensed  at  the  first. 

Paper,  an  invention  not  less  marvelous  than  the  other  de- 
pendent invention  of  printing,  was  known  in  ancient  times 
in  China.  Thence  by  the  unrecognized  channels  of  com- 
merce the  art  reached  Asia  Minor,  where  paper  was  made  in 
the  year  750,  according  to  tradition,  a  paper  made  of  cotton 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  117 

reduced  to  a  pulp  and  boiled.  Parchment  had  become  so 
extremely  dear  that  a  cheap  substitute  was  discovered  in  an 
imitation  of  the  cotton  paper  known  in  the  East  as  charta 
bombycina.  The  imitation,  made  from  rags,  was  first  made  at 
Basel,  in  1170,  by  a  colony  of  Greek  refugees,  according  to 
some  authorities;  or  at  Padua,  in  1301,  by  an  Italian  named 
Pax,  according  to  others.  In  these  ways  the  manufacture  of 
paper  was  perfected  slowly  and  in  obscurity  ;  but  this  much 
is  certain,  that  so  early  as  the  reign  of  Charles  VI.  paper  pulp 
for  playing  cards  was  made  in  Paris. 

When  those  immortals,  Faust,  Coster,  and  Gutenberg,  in- 
vented the  book,  craftsmen  as  obscure  as  many  a  great  artist 
of  those  times  appropriated  paper  to  the  uses  of  typography. 
In  the  fifteenth  century,  that  na'fve  and  vigorous  age,  names 
were  given  to  the  various  formats  as  well  as  to  the  different 
sizes  of  type,  names  that  bear  the  impress  of  the  naivete"  of 
the  times ;  and  the  various  sheets  came  to  be  known  by  the 
different  watermarks  on  their  centres  ;  the  grapes,  the  figure 
of  our  Saviour,  the  crown,  the  shield,  or  the  flower-pot,  just 
as,  at  a  later  day,  the  eagle  of  Napoleon's  time  gave  the  name 
to  the  "  double  eagle  "  size.  And  in  the  same  way  the  types 
were  called  Cicero,  Saint-Augustine,  and  Canon  type,  because 
they  were  first  used  to  print  the  treatises  of  Cicero  and  theo- 
logical and  liturgical  works.  Italics  are  so  called  because 
they  were  invented  in  Italy  by  Aldus  of  Venice. 

Before  the  invention  of  machine-made  paper,  which  can  be 
woven  in  any  length,  the  largest  sized  sheets  were  the  grand 
jesus  (lit.  great  jesus,  a  term  for  super-royal),  and  the  double 
columbier  (this  last  being  scarcely  used  now  except  for  atlases 
or  engravings),  and  the  size  of  paper  for  printers'  use  was 
determined  by  the  dimensions  of  the  impression-stone.  When 
David  explained  these  things  to  Eve,  web-paper  was  almost 
undreamed  of  in  France,  although,  about  1799,  Denis  Robert 
d'Essonne  had  invented  a  machine  for  turning  out  a  ribbon  of 
paper,  and  Didot-Saint-Leger  had  since  tried  to  perfect  it. 


118  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

The  vellum  paper  invented  by  Ambroise  Didot  only  dates 
back  as  far  as  1 780. 

This  bird's-eye  view  of  the  history  of  the  invention  shows 
incontestably  that  great  industrial  and  intellectual  advances 
are  made  exceedingly  slowly,  and  little  by  little,  even  as  na- 
ture herself  proceeds.  Perhaps  articulate  speech  and  the  art 
of  writing  were  gradually  developed  in  the  same  groping  way 
as  typography  and  paper-making. 

"  Rag-pickers  collect  all  the  rags  and  old  linen  of  Europe," 
the  printer  concluded,  "and  buy  any  kind  of  tissue.  The 
rags  are  sorted  and  warehoused  by  the  wholesale  rag  mer- 
chants, who  supply  the  paper-mills.  To  give  you  some  idea 
of  the  extent  of  the  trade,  you  must  know,  mademoiselle,  that 
in  1814  Card  on  the  banker,  owner  of  the  pulping  troughs  of 
Buges  and  Langlee  -(where  L6orier  de  1'Isle  endeavored  in 
1776  to  solve  the  very  problem  that  occupied  your  father), 
Cardon  brought  an  action  against  one  Proust  for  an  error  in 
weights  of  two  millions  in  a  total  of  ten  million  pounds' 
weight  of  rags,  worth  about  four  million  francs  !  The  man- 
ufacturer washes  the  rags  and  reduces  them  to  a  thin  pulp, 
which  is  strained,  exactly  as  a  cook  strains  sauce  through  a 
sieve,  through  an  iron  frame  with  a  fine  wire  bottom  where 
the  mark  which  gives  its  name  to  the  size  of  the  paper  is 
woven.  The  size  of  this  mould,  as  it  is  called,  regulates  the 
size  of  the  sheet. 

"  When  I  was  with  the  Messieurs  Didot,"  David  continued, 
"they  were  very  much  interested  in  this  question,  and  they 
are  still  interested  ;  for  the  improvement  which  your  father 
endeavored  to  make  is  a  great  commercial  requirement,  and 
one  of  the  crying  needs  of  the  time.  And  for  this  reason  : 
although  linen  lasts  so  much  longer  than  cotton,  that  it  is  in 
reality  cheaper  in  the  end,  the  poor  Avotild  rather  make  the 
smaller  outlay  in  the  first  instance,  and  by  virtue  of  the  law  of 
Vac  victis !  pay  enormously  more  before  they  have  done. 
The  middle  classes  do  the  same.  So  there  is  a  scarcity  of 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  119 

linen.  In  England,  where  four-fifths  of  the  population  use 
cotton  to  the  exclusion  of  linen,  they  make  nothing  but 
cotton  paper.  The  cotton  paper  is  very  soft  and  easily  creased 
to  begin  with,  and  it  has  a  further  defect :  it  is  so  soluble  that 
if  you  steep  a  book  made  of  cotton  paper  in  water  for  fifteen 
minutes  it  turns  to  a  pulp,  while  an  old  book  left  in  water 
for  a  couple  of  hours  is  not  spoiled.  You  could  dry  the  old 
book,  and  the  pages,  though  yellow  and  faded,  would  still  be 
legible,  the  work  would  not  be  destroyed. 

"  There  is  a  time  coming  when  legislation  will  equalize  our 
fortunes,  and  we  shall  all  be  poor  together ;  we  shall  want  our 
linen  and  our  books  to  be  cheap,  just  as  people  are  beginning 
to  prefer  small  pictures  because  they  have  not  wall  space 
enough  for  large  ones.  Well,  the  shirts  and  the  books  will 
not  last,  that  is  all ;  it  is  the  same  on  all  sides,  solidity  is 
dying  out.  So  this  problem  is  one  of  the  first  importance  for 
literature,  science,  and  politics. 

"  One  day,  in  my  office,  there  was  a  hot  discussion  going 
on  about  the  material  that  the  Chinese  use  for  making  paper. 
Their  paper  is  far  better  than  ours,  because  the  raw  material 
is  better ;  and  a  good  deal  was  said  about  this  thin,  light 
Chinese  paper,  for,  if  it  is  light  and  thin,  the  texture  is  close, 
there  are  no  transparent  spots  in  it.  In  Paris  there  are  learned 
men  among  the  printers'  readers ;  Fourier  and  Pierre  Leroux 
are  Lachevardiere's  readers  at  this  moment ;  and  the  Comte 
de  Saint-Simon,  who  happened  to  be  correcting  proofs  for  us, 
came  in  in  the  middle  of  the  discussion.  He  told  us  at  once 
that,  according  to  Kempfer  and  du  Halde,  the  Broussonetia 
furnishes  the  substance  of  the  Chinese  paper  ;  it  is  a  vegetable 
substance  (like  linen  or  cotton  for  that  matter).  Another 
reader  maintained  that  Chinese  paper  was  principally  made 
of  an  animal  substance,  to  wit,  the  silk  that  is  abundant  there. 
They  made  a  bet  about  it  in  my  presence.  The  Messieurs 
Didot  are  printers  to  the  Institute,  so  naturally  they  referred 
the  question  to  that  learned  body.  Monsieur  Marcel,  who 


120  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

used  to  be  superintendent  of  the  Royal  Printing  Establish- 
ment, was  umpire,  and  he  sent  the  two  readers  to  Monsieur 
l'Abb£  Grozier,  librarian  at  the  Arsenal.  By  the  abbess  de- 
cision they  both  lost  their  wagers.  The  paper  was  not  made 
of  silk  nor  yet  from  the  Broussonctia  ;  the  pulp  proved  to  be 
the  triturated  fibre  of  some  kind  of  bamboo.  The  Abbe 
Grozier  had  a  Chinese  book,  an  iconographical  and  techno- 
logical work,  with  a  great  many  pictures  in  it,  illustrating  all 
the  different  processes  of  paper-making,  and  he  showed  us  a 
picture  of  a  workshop  with  the  bamboo-stalks  lying  in  a  heap 
in  the  corner ;  it  was  extremely  well  drawn. 

"Lucien  told  me  that  your  father,  with  the  intuition  of  a 
man  of  talent,  had  a  glimmering  of  a  notion  of  some  way  of 
replacing  linen  rags  with  an  exceedingly  common  vegetable 
product,  not  previously  manufactured,  but  taken  direct  from 
the  soil,  as  the  Chinese  use  vegetable  fibre  at  first  hand.  I 
have  classified  the  guesses  made  by  those  who  came  before  me, 
and  have  begun  to  study  the  question.  The  bamboo  is  a  kind 
of  reed  ;  naturally  I  began  to  think  of  the  reeds  that  grow  here 
in  France. 

"Labor  is  very  cheap  in  China,  where  a  workman  earns 
three  cents  a  day,  and  this  cheapness  of  labor  enables  the 
Chinese  to  manipulate  each  sheet  of  paper  separately.  They 
take  it  out  of  the  mould  and  press  it  between  heated  tablets  of 
white  porcelain,  that  is  the  secret  of  the  surface  and  consistence, 
the  lightness  and  satin  smoothness  of  the  best  paper  in  the 
world.  Well,  here  in  Europe  the  work  must  be  done  by  ma- 
chinery; machinery  must  take  the  place  of  cheap  Ciiinese 
labor.  If  we  could  but  succeed  in  making  a  cheap  paper  of 
as  good  a  quality,  the  weight  and  thickness  of  printed  books 
would  be  reduced  by  more  than  one-half.  A  set  of  Voltaire, 
printed  on  our  woven  paper  and  bound,  weighs  about  two 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  ;  it  would  only  weigh  fifty  if  we 
used  Chinese  paper.  That  surely  would  be  a  triumph,  for  the 
housing  of  many  books  has  come  to  be  a  difficulty ;  everything 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  121 

has  grown  smaller  of  late ;  this  is  not  an  age  of  giants  ;  men 
have  shrunk,  everything  about  them  shrinks,  and  house-room 
into  the  bargain.  Great  mansions  and  great  suites  of  rooms 
will  be  abolished  sooner  or  later  in  Paris,  for  no  one  will  afford 
to  live  in  the  great  houses  built  by  our  forefathers.  What  a 
disgrace  for  our  age  if  none  of  its  books  should  last !  Dutch 
paper — that  is,  paper  made  from  flax — will  be  quite  unobtain- 
able in  ten  years'  time.  Well,  your  brother  told  me  of  this 
idea  of  your  father's,  this  plan  for  using  vegetable  fibre  in 
paper-making,  so  you  see  that,  if  I  succeed,  you  have  a  right 
to " 

Lucien  came  up  at  this  moment  and  interrupted  David's 
generous  assertion. 

"I  do  not  know  whether  you  have  found  the  evening 
pleasant,"  said  he  ;  "it  has  been  a  cruel  time  for  me." 

"Poor  Lucien!  what  can  have  happened?"  cried  Eve,  as 
she  saw  her  brother's  excited  face. 

The  poet  told  the  history  of  his  agony,  pouring  out  a  flood 
of  clamorous  thoughts  into  those  friendly  hearts,  Eve  and 
David  listening  in  pained  silence  to  a  torrent  of  woes  that 
exhibited  such  greatness  and  such  pettiness. 

"  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  is  an  old  dotard.  The  indigestion 
will  carry  him  off  before  long,  no  doubt,"  Lucien  said,  as  he 
made  an  end,  "  and  then  I  will  look  down  on  these  proud  peo- 
ple ;  I  will  marry  Madame  de  Bargeton.  I  read  to-night  in  her 
eyes  a  love  as  great  as  mine  for  her.  Yes,  she  felt  all  that  I 
felt ;  she  comforted  me ;  she  is  as  great  and  noble  as  she  is 
gracious  and  beautiful.  She  will  never  give  me  up." 

"  It  is  time  that  life  was  made  smooth  for  him,  is  it  not  ?  " 
murmured  David,  and  for  answer  Eve  pressed  his  arm  without 
speaking.  David  guessed  her  thoughts  and  began  at  once  to 
tell  Lucien  about  his  own  plans. 

If  Lucien  was  full  of  his  troubles,  the  lovers  were  quite  as 
full  of  themselves.  So  absorbed  were  they,  so  eager  that 
Lucien  should  approve  their  happiness,  that  neither  Eve  nor 


122  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

David  so  much  as  noticed  his  start  of  surprise  at  the  news. 
Mme.  de  Bargeton's  lover  had  been  dreaming  of  a  great 
match  for  his  sister  ;  he  would  reach  a  high  position  first,  and 
then  secure  himself  by  an  alliance  with  some  family  of  influ- 
ence, and  here  was  one  more  obstacle  in  his  way  to  success ! 
His  hopes  were  dashed  to  the  ground.  "  If  Madame  de  Barge- 
ton  consents  to  be  Madame  de  Rubempre,  she  would  never 
care  to  have  David  Sechard  for  a  brother-in-law  !  " 

This  stated  clearly  and  precisely  was  the  thought  that  tor- 
tured Lucien's  inmost  mind.  "  Louise  is  right !  "  he  thought 
bitterly.  "  A  man  with  a  career  before  him  is  never  under- 
stood by  his  family." 

If  the  marriage  had  not  been  announced  immediately  after 
Lucien's  fancy  had  put  M.  de  Bargeton  to  death,  he  would 
have  been  radiant  with  heartfelt  delight  at  the  news.  If  he 
had  thought  soberly  over  the  probable  future  of  a  beautiful 
and  penniless  girl  like  Eve  Chardon,  he  would  have  seen  that 
this  marriage  was  a  piece  of  unhoped-for  good  fortune.  But 
he  was  living  just  now  in  a  golden  dream ;  he  had  soared 
above  all  barriers  on  the  wings  of  an  if;  he  had  seen  a  vision 
of  himself,  rising  above  society;  and  it  was  painful  to  drop  so 
suddenly  down  to  hard  fact. 

Eve  and  David  both  thought  that  their  brother  was  over- 
come with  the  sense  of  such  generosity ;  to  them,  with  their 
nobler  natures,  the  silent  consent  was  a  sign  of  true  friend- 
ship. David  began  to  describe  with  kindly  and  cordial  elo- 
quence the  happy  fortunes  in  store  for  them  all.  Unchecked 
by  protests  put  in  by  Eve,  he  furnished  his  second  floor  with 
a  lover's  lavishness,  built  a  third  floor  with  boyish  good  faith 
for  Lucien,  and  rooms  above  the  shed  for  Mme.  Chardon — 
he  meant  to  be  a  son  to  her.  In  short,  he  made  the  whole 
family  so  happy  and  his  brother-in-law  so  independent  that 
Lucien  fell  under  the  spell  of  David's  voice  and  Eve's  caresses, 
and,  as  they  went  through  the  shadows  beside  the  still  Char- 
ente,  a  gleam  in  the  warm  star-lit  night,  he  forgot  the  sharp 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  123 

crown  of  thorns  that  had  been  pressed  upon  his  head.  "M. 
de  Rubempre  "  discovered  David's  real  nature  in  fact.  His 
facile  character  returned  almost  at  once  to  the  innocent,  hard- 
working burgher  life  that  he  knew ;  he  saw  it  transfigured  and 
free  from  care.  The  buzz  of  the  aristocratic  world  grew 
more  and  more  remote ;  and  when  at  length  they  came  upon 
the  paved  road  of  L'Houmeau,  the  ambitious  poet  grasped 
his  brother's  hand,  and  made  a  third  in  the  joy  of  the  happy 
lovers. 

"If  only  your  father  makes  no  objection  to  the  marriage," 
he  said. 

"You  know  how  much  he  troubles  himself  about  me;  the 
old  man  lives  for  himself,"  said  David.  "  But  I  will  go  over 
to  Marsac  to-morrow  and  see  him,  if  it  is  only  to  ask  leave  to 
build." 

David  went  back  to  the  house  with  the  brother  and  sister, 
and  asked  Mme.  Chardon's  consent  to  his  marriage  with  the 
eagerness  of  a  man  who  would  fain  have  no  delay.  Eve's 
mother  took  her  daughter's  hand  and  gladly  laid  it  in  David's; 
and  the  lover,  grown  bolder  on  this,  kissed  his  fair  betrothed 
on  the  forehead,  and  she  flushed  red  and  smiled  at  him. 

"The  betrothal  of  the  poor,"  the  mother  said,  raising  her 
eyes  as  if  to  pray  for  heaven's  blessing  upon  them.  "You 
are  brave,  my  boy,"  she  added,  looking  at  David,  "but  we 
have  fallen  on  evil  fortune  and  I  am  afraid  lest  our  bad-luck 
should  be  infectious." 

"We  shall  be  rich  and  happy,"  David  said  earnestly.  "To 
begin  with,  you  must  not  go  out  nursing  any  more,  and  you 
must  come  and  live  with  your  daughter  and  Lucien  in  An- 
goul&me." 

The  three  began  at  once  to  tell  the  astonished  mother  all 
their  charming  plans,  and  the  family  party  gave  themselves 
up  to  the  pleasure  of  chatting  and  weaving  a  romance,  in 
which  it  is  so  pleasant  to  enjoy  future  happiness,  and  to  store 
the  unsown  harvest.  They  had  to  put  David  out  at  the  door  j 


124  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

he  could  have  wished  the  evening  to  last  for  ever,  and  it 
was  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Lucien  and  his  future 
brother-in-law  reached  the  Palet  Gate.  The  unwonted  move- 
ment made  honest  Postel  uneasy  ;  he  opened  the  window,  and, 
looking  through  the  Venetian  shutters,  he  saw  a  light  in  Eve's 
room. 

"What  can  be  happening  at  the  Chardons?"  thought  he, 
and,  seeing  Lucien  come  in,  he  called  out  to  him — 

"  What  is  the  matter,  sonny  ?  Do  you  want  me  to  do  any- 
thing?" 

"  No,  sir,"  returned  the  poet;  "  but  as  you  are  our  friend, 
I  can  tell  you  about  it  ;  my  mother  has  just  given  her  consent 
to  my  sister's  engagement  to  David  Sechard." 

For  all  answer,  Postel  shut  the  window  with  a  bang,  in 
despair  that  he  had  not  asked  for  Mile.  Chardon  earlier. 

David,  however,  did  not  go  back  into  Angouleme ;  he  took 
the  road  to  Marsac  instead,  and  walked  through  the  night  the 
whole  way  to  his  father's  house.  He  went  along  by  the  side 
of  the  croft  just  as  the  sun  rose,  and  caught  sight  of  the  old 
"bear's"  face  under  an  almond  tree  that  grew  out  of  the 
hedge. 

"Good-day,  father,"  called  David. 

"  Why  !  is  it  you,  my  boy?  How  come  you  to  be  out  on 
the  road  at  this  time  of  day?  There  is  your  way  in,"  he 
added,  pointing  to  a  little  wicket  gate.  "  My  vines  have 
flowered,  and  not  a  shoot  has  been  frosted.  There  will  be 
twenty  puncheons  or  more  to  the  acre  this  year;  but  then 
look  at  all  the  dung  that  has  been  put  on  the  land  !  " 

"  Father,  I  have  come  on  important  business." 

"  Very  well ;  how  are  your  presses  doing  ?  You  must  be 
making  heaps  of  money  as  big  as  yourself." 

"  I  shall  some  day,  father,  but  I  am  not  very  well  off  just 
now." 

"  They  all  tell  me  that  I  ought  not  to  put  on  so  much 
manure,"  replied  his  father.  "  The  gentry — that  is,  Monsieur 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  125 

le  Marquis,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  and  Monsieur  What-do-you- 
call-'em — say  that  I  am  letting  down  the  quality  of  the  wine. 
What  is  the  good  of  book-learning  except  to  muddle  your 
wits?  Just  you  listen:  these  gentlemen  get  seven  or  some- 
times eight  puncheons  of  wine  to  the  acre,  and  they  sell  them 
for  sixty  francs  a  piece,  that  means  four  hundred  francs  per 
acre  at  most  in  a  good  year.  Now  I  make  twenty  puncheons, 
and  get  thirty  francs  a  piece  for  them — that  is  six  hundred 
francs!  And  where  are  they,  the  fools?  Quality,  quality, 
what  is  quality  to  me?  They  can  keep  their  quality  for  them- 
selves, these  Lord  Marquises.  Quality  means  hard  cash  for 

me,  that  is  what  it  means.     You  were  saying? " 

"I  am  going  to  be  married,  father,  and  I  have  come  to  ask 

for " 

"  Ask  me  for  what  ?  Nothing  of  the  sort,  my  boy.  Marry ; 
I  give  you  my  consent,  but  as  for  giving  you  anything  else,  I 
haven't  a  penny  to  bless  myself  with.  Dressing  the  soil  is  the 
ruin  of  me.  These  two  years  I  have  been  paying  money  out 
of  pocket  for  top-dressing,  and  taxes,  and.  expenses  of  all 
kinds ;  government  eats  up  everything,  nearly  all  the  profit 
goes  to  the  government.  The  poor  growers  have  made  noth- 
ing these  two  last  seasons.  This  year  things  don't  look  so 
bad  ;  and,  of  course,  the  beggarly  puncheons  have  gone  up  to 
eleven  francs  already.  We  work  to  put  money  into  the 
coopers'  pockets.  Why,  are  you  going  to  marry  before  the 

vintage? " 

"  I  only  came  to  ask  for  your  consent,  father." 
"  Oh  !  that  is  another  thing.     And  who  is  the  victim,  if 
one  may  ask  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  Mademoiselle  Eve  Chardon." 
"  Who  may  she  be  ?     What  kind  of  victual  does  she  eat?  " 
"  She  is  the  daughter  of  the  late  Monsieur  Chardon,  the 
druggist  in  L'Houmeau." 

"You  are  going  to  marry  a  girl  out  of  L'Houmeau  !  you  ! 
a  burgess  of  Angoul&me,  and  printer  to  his  majesty  !  This  is 


126  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

what  comes  of  book-learning  !  Send  a  boy  to  school  forsooth  ! 
Oh  !  well,  then  she  is  very  rich,  is  she,  my  boy?"  and  the 
old  vine-grower  came  up  closer  with  a  cajoling  manner  ;  "  if 
you  are  marrying  a  girl  out  of  L'Houmeau,  it  must  be  because 
she  has  lots  of  cash,  eh?  Good  !  you  will  pay  me  my  rent 
now.  There  are  two  years  and  one-quarter  owing,  you  know, 
my  boy;  that  is  two  thousand  seven  hundred  francs  alto- 
gether ;  the  money  will  come  just  in  the  nick  of  time  to  pay 
the  cooper.  If  it  was  anybody  else,  I  should  have  a  right  to 
ask  for  interest ;  for,  after  all,  business  is  business,  but  I  will 
let  you  off  the  interest.  Well,  how  much  has  she  ?  " 

"  Just  as  much  as  my  mother  had." 

The  old  vine-grower  very  nearly  said,  "  Then  she  has  only 
ten  thousand  francs  !  "  but  he  recollected  just  in  time  that 
he  had  declined  to  give  an  acount  of  her  fortune  to  her  son, 
and  exclaimed,  "  She  has  nothing  !  " 

"My  mother's  fortune  was  her  beauty  and  intelligence," 
said  David. 

"You  just  go  into  the  market  and  see  what  you  can  get  for 
it !  Bless  my  buttons  !  what  bad  luck  parents  have  with  their 
children.  David,  when  I  married,  I  had  a  paper-cap  on  my 
head  for  my  whole  fortune,  and  a  pair  of  arms  ;  I  was  a  poor 
pressman  ;  but  with  the  fine  printing-house  that  I  gave  you, 
with  your  industry  and  your  education,  you  might  marry  a 
burgess'  daughter,  a  woman  with  thirty  or  forty  thousand 
francs.  Give  up  your  fancy,  and  I  will  find  you  a  wife  my- 
self. There  is  some  one  about  three  miles  away,  a  miller's 
widow,  thirty-two  years  old,  with  a  hundred  thousand  francs 
in  land.  There  is  your  chance  !  You  can  add  her  property 
to  Marsac,  for  they  touch.  Ah  !  what  a  fine  property  we 
should  have,  and  how  I  would  look  after  it  !  They  say  she 
is  going  to  marry  her  foreman  Courtois,  but  you  are  the  better 
man  of  the  two.  I  would  look  after  the  mill,  and  she  should 
live  like  a  lady  up  in  Angouleme." 

"  I  am  engaged,  father." 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  127 

"  David,  you  know  nothing  of  business ;  you  will  ruin 
yourself,  I  see.  Yes,  if  you  marry  this  girl  out  of  L'Houmeau, 
I  shall  square  accounts  and  summons  you  for  the  rent,  for  I 
see  that  no  good  will  come  of  this.  Oh  !  my  presses,  my 
poor  presses  !  it  took  some  money  to  grease  you  and  keep  you 
going.  Nothing  but  a  good  year  can  comfort  me  after  this," 
he  said. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  father,  that  until  now  I  have  given  you 
very  little  trouble " 

"And  paid  mighty  little  rent,"  put  in  his  parent. 

"  I  came  to  ask  you  something  else  beside.  Will  you  build 
a  second  floor  to  your  house,  and  some  rooms  above  the 
shed?" 

"  Deuce  a  bit  of  it ;  I  have  not  the  cash,  and  that  you 
know  right  well.  Beside,  it  would  be  money  thrown  clean 
away,  for  what  would  it  bring  in  ?  Oh  !  you  get  up  early 
of  a  morning  to  come  and  ask  me  to  build  you  a  place  that 
would  ruin  a  king,  do  you  ?  Your  name  may  be  David,  but 
I  have  not  got  Solomon's  treasury.  Why,  you  are  mad  !  or 
they  changed  my  child  at  nurse.  There  is  one  for  you  that 
will  have  grapes  on  it,"  he  said,  interrupting  himself  to  point 
out  a  shoot.  "  Offspring  of  this  sort  don't  disappoint  their 
parents ;  you  dung  the  vines,  and  they  repay  you  for  it.  I 
sent  you  to  school ;  I  spent  any  amount  of  money  to  make  a 
scholar  of  you ;  I  sent  you  to  the  Didots  to  learn  your  busi- 
ness ;  and  all  this  fancy  education  ends  in  a  daughter-in-law 
out  of  L'Houmeau  without  a  penny  to  her  name.  If  you  had 
not  studied  books,  if  I  had  kept  you  under  my  eye,  you  would 
have  done  as  I  pleased,  and  you  would  be  marrying  a  miller's 
widow  this  day  with  a  hundred  thousand  francs  in  hand,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  mill.  Oh  !  your  cleverness  leads  you  to 
imagine  that  I  am  going  to  reward  this  fine  sentiment  by  build- 
ing palaces  for  you,  does  it  ?  Really,  anybody  might  think 
that  the  house  that  has  been  a  house  these  two  hundred  years 
was  nothing  but  a  pigsty,  not  fit  for  the  girl  out  of  L'Hou- 


128  LOST   ILLUSIONS. 

meau  to  sleep  in  !  What  next !  She  is  the  Queen  of  France, 
I  suppose." 

"  Very  well,  father,  I  will  build  the  second  floor  myself; 
the  son  will  improve  his  father's  property.  It  is  not  the  usual 
way,  but  it  happens  so  sometimes." 

"What,  my  lad!  you  can  find  money  for  building,  can 
you,  though  you  can't  find  money  to  pay  the  rent,  eh  ?  You 
sly  dog,  to  come  round  your  father." 

The  question  thus  raised  was  hard  to  lay,  for  the  old  man 
was  only  too  delighted  to  seize  an  opportunity  of  posing  as  a 
good  father  without  disbursing  a  penny ;  and  all  that  David 
could  obtain  was  his  bare  consent  to  the  marriage  and  free 
leave  to  do  what  he  liked  in  the  house — at  his  own  expense; 
the  old  "bear,"  that  pattern  of  a  thrifty  parent,  kindly  con- 
senting not  to  demand  the  rent  and  drain  the  savings  to  which 
David  imprudently  owned.  David  went  back  again  in  low 
spirits.  He  saw  that  he  could  not  reckon  on  his  father's  help 
in  misfortune. 

In  Angouleme  that  day  people  talked  of  nothing  but  the 
bishop's  epigram  and  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  reply.  Every 
least  thing  that  happened  that  evening  was  so  much  exagger- 
ated and  embellished  and  twisted  out  of  all  knowledge  that 
the  poet  became  the  hero  of  the  hour.  While  this  storm  in  a 
teacup  raged  on  high,  a  few  drops  fell  among  the  bourgeoisie /* 
young  men  looked  enviously  after  Lucien  as  he  passed  on  his 
way  through  Beaulieu,  and  he  overheard  chance  phrases  that 
filled  him  with  conceit. 

"  There  is  a  lucky  young  fellow  !  "  said  an  attorney's  clerk, 
named  Petit-Claud,  a  plain-featured  youth  who  had  been  at 
school  with  Lucien,  and  treated  him  with  small  patronizing 
airs. 

"  Yes,  he  certainly  is,"  answered  one  of  the  young  men  who 
had  been  present  on  the  occasion  of  the  reading;  "he  is  a 
*  Middle  classes. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  129 

good-looking  fellow,  he  has  some  brains,  and  Madame  de 
Bargeton  is  quite  wild  about  him." 

Lucien  had  waited  impatiently  until  he  could  be  sure  of 
finding  Louise  alone.  He  had  to  break  the  tidings  of  his  sis- 
ter's marriage  to  the  arbitress  of  his  destinies.  Perhaps  after 
yesterday's  soiree  Louise  would  be  kinder  than  usual,  and  her 
kindness  might  lead  to  a  moment  of  happiness.  So  he  thought, 
and  he  was  not  mistaken  ;  Madame  de  Bargeton  met  him  with 
a  vehemence  of  sentiment  that  seemed  like  a  touching  progress 
of  passion  to  the  novice  in  love.  She  abandoned  her  hands, 
her  beautiful  golden  hair  to  the  burning  kisses  of  the  poet  who 
had  passed  through  such  an  ordeal. 

"If  only  you  could  have  seen  your  face  whilst  you  were 
reading,"  cried  Louise,  using  the  familiar  /»,  the  caress  of 
speech,  since  yesterday,  while  her  white  hands  wiped  the 
pearls  of  sweat  from  the  brows  on  which  she  set  a  poet's 
crown.  "There  were  sparks  of  fire  in  those  beautiful  eyes  ! 
From  your  lips,  as  I  watched  them,  there  fell  the  golden 
chains  that  suspend  the  hearts  of  men  upon  the  poet's  mouth. 
You  shall  read  Chenier  through  to  me  from  beginning  to  end  ; 
he  is  the  lover's  poet.  You  shall  not  be  unhappy  any  longer; 
I  will  not  have  it.  Yes,  dear  angel,  I  will  make  an  oasis  for 
you,  there  you  shall  live  your  poet's  life,  sometimes  busy, 
sometimes  languid  ;  indolent,  full  of  work,  and  musing  by 
turns  ;  but  never  forget  that  you  owe  your  laurels  to  me,  let 
that  thought  be  my  noble  guerdon  for  the  sufferings  which  I 
must  endure.  Poor  love  !  the  world  will  not  spare  me  any 
more  than  it  has  spared  you  ;  the  world  is  avenged  on  all 
happiness  in  which  it  has  no  share.  Yes,  I  shall  always  be  a 
mark  for  envy — did  you  not  see  that  last  night  ?  The  blood- 
thirsty insects  are  quick  enough  to  drain  every  wound  that 
they  pierce.  But  I  was  happy  ;  I  lived.  It  was  so  long  since 
all  my  heart-strings  vibrated." 

The  tears  flowed  fast,  and  for  all  answer  Lucien  took 
Louise's  hand  and  gave  it  a  lingering  kiss.  Every  one  about 
9 


130  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

him  soothed  and  caressed  the  poet's  vanity ;  his  mother  and 
his  sister  and  David  and  Louise  now  did  the  same.  Every 
one  helped  to  raise  the  imaginary  pedestal  on  which  he  had 
set  himself.  His  friend's  kindness  and  the  fury  of  his  ene- 
mies combined  to  establish  him  more  firmly  in  his  self-confi- 
dent ambition  ;  he  lived  in  an  unreal  world.  A  young  imag- 
ination readily  falls  in  with  the  flattering  estimates  of  others, 
a  handsome  young  fellow  so  full  of  promise  finds  others  eager 
to  help  him  on  every  side,  and  only  after  one  or  two  sharp 
and  bitter  lessons  does  he  begin  to  see  himself  as  aa  ordinary 
mortal. 

"  My  beautiful  Louise,  do  you  mean  in  very  truth  to  be  my 
Beatrice,  a  Beatrice  who  condescends  to  be  loved  ? ' '  asked 
Lucien. 

Louise  raised  the  fine  eyes,  hitherto  down-dropped. 

"  If  you  show  yourself  worthy — some  day  !  "  she  said,  with 
an  angelic  smile  which  belied  her  words.  "Are  you  not 
happy  ?  To  be  the  sole  possessor  of  a  heart,  to  speak  freely 
at  all  times  with  the  certainty  of  being  understood,  is  not  this 
happiness?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  a  lover's  pout  of  vexation. 

"Child!"  she  exclaimed,  laughing  at  him.  "Come,  you 
have  something  to  tell  me,  have  you  not  ?  You  came  in  ab- 
sorbed in  thought,  my  Lucien." 

Lucien,  in  fear  and  trembling,  confided  to  his  beloved  that 
David  was  in  love  with  his  sister  Eve,  that  his  sister  Eve  was 
in  love  with  David,  and  that  the  two  were  to  be  married  very 
shortly. 

"Poor  Lucien!"  said  Louise;  "he  was  afraid  he  should 
be  beaten  and  scolded,  as  if  it  was  he  himself  that  was  going 
to  be  married!  Why,  where  is  the  harm?"  she  continued, 
her  fingers  toying  with  Lucien's  hair.  "  What  is  your  family 
to  me  when  you  are  an  exception  ?  Suppose  that  my  father 
were  to  marry  his  cook,  would  that  trouble  you  much  ?  Dear 
boy,  lovers  are  for  each  other  their  whole  family.  Have  I  a 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  131 

greater  interest  than  my  Lucien  in  the  world  ?     Be  great,  find 
the  way  to  win  fame,  that  is  our  affair  !  " 

This  selfish  answer  made  Lucien  the  happiest  of  mortals. 
But  in  the  middle  of  the  fantastic  reasonings,  with  which 
Louise  convinced  him  that  they  two  were  alone  in  the  world, 
in  came  M.  de  Bargeton.  Lucien  frowned  and  seemed  to  be 
taken  aback,  but  Louise  made  him  a  sign  and  asked  him  to 
stay  to  dinner  and  to  read  Andre  de  Chdnier  aloud  to  them 
until  people  arrived  for  their  evening  game  at  cards. 

"  You  will  give  her  pleasure,"  said  M.  de  Bargeton,  "  and 
me  also.  Nothing  suits  me  better  than  listening  to  reading 
aloud  after  dinner." 

Cajoled  by  M.  de  Bargeton,  cajoled  by  Louise,  waited  upon 
with  the  respect  which  servants  show  to  a  favored  guest  of  the 
house,  Lucien  remained  in  the  Hotel  de  Bargeton,  and  began 
to  think  of  the  luxuries  which  he  enjoyed  for  the  time  being 
as  the  rightful  accessories  of  Lucien  de  Rubempre.  He  felt 
his  position  so  strong  through  Louise's  love  and  M.  de  Barge- 
ton's  weakness,  that,  as  the  rooms  filled,  he  assumed  a  lordly 
air,  which  that  fair  lady  encouraged.  He  tasted  the  delights 
of  despotic  sway  which  NaTs  had  acquired  by  right  of  con- 
quest, and  liked  to  share  with  him ;  and,  in  short,  that  even- 
ing he  tried  to  act  up  to  the  part  of  the  lion  of  a  little  town. 
A  few  of  those  who  marked  these  airs  drew  their  own  conclu- 
sions from  them,  and  thought  that,  according  to  the  old  ex- 
pression, he  had  come  to  the  last  term  with  the  lady.  Ame'lie, 
who  had  come  with  M.  du  Chatelet,  was  sure  of  the  deplor- 
able fact,  in  a  corner  of  the  drawing-room  where  the  jealous 
and  envious  gathered  together. 

"  Do  not  think  of  calling  NaTs  to  account  for  the  vanity  of 
a  youngster,  who  is  as  proud  as  he  can  be  because  he  has  got 
into  society  where  he  never  expected  to  set  foot,"  said  Chate- 
let. "  Don't  you  see  that  this  Chardon  takes  the  civility  of 
a  woman  of  the  world  for  an  advance  ?  He  does  not  know 
the  difference  between  the  silence  of  real  passion  and  the 


132  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

patronizing  graciousness  due  to  his  good  looks  and  youth  and 
talent.  It  would  be  too  bad  if  women  were  blamed  for  all 
the  desires  which  they  inspire.  He  certainly  is  in  love  with 
her,  but  as  for  Na'is " 

"Oh!  NaTs,"  echoed  the  perfidious  Amelie,  "NaYs  is  well 
enough  pleased.  A  young  man's  love  has  so  many  attractions 
— at  her  age.  A  woman  grows  young  again  in  his  company ; 
she  is  a  girl,  and  acts  a  girl's  hesitation  and  manners,  and 
does  not  dream  that  she  is  ridiculous.  Just  look  !  Think  of 
a  druggist's  son  giving  himself  a  conqueror's  airs  with  Madame 
de  Bargeton." 

"Love  knows  nought  of  high  or  low  degree,"  hummed 
Adrien. 

There  was  not  a  single  house  in  Angoul&me  next  day 
where  the  degree  of  intimacy  between  M.  Chardon  {alias  de 
Rubempre)  and  Mme.  de  Bargeton  was  not  discussed ;  and 
though  the  utmost  extent  of  their  guilt  amounted  to  two  or 
three  kisses,  the  world  already  chose  to  believe  the  worst  of 
both.  Mme.  de  Bargeton  paid  the  penalty  of  her  sovereignty. 
Among  the  various  eccentricities  of  society,  have  you  never 
noticed  its  erratic  judgments  and  the  unaccountable  differ- 
ences in  the  standard  it  requires  of  this  or  that  man  or 
woman.  There  are  some  persons  who  may  do  anything  ;  they 
may  behave  totally  irrationally,  anything  becomes  them,  and 
it  is  who  shall  be  first  to  justify  their  conduct ;  then,  on  the 
other  hand,  there  are  those  on  whom  the  world  is  unaccount- 
ably severe,  they  must  do  everything  well,  they  are  not  allowed 
to  fail  nor  to  make  mistakes,  at  their  peril  they  do  anything 
foolish ;  you  might  compare  these  last  to  the  much-admired 
statues  which  must  come  down  at  once  from  their  pedestal  if 
the  frost  clips  off  a  nose  or  a  finger.  They  are  not  permitted 
to  be  human  ;  they  are  required  to  be  for  ever  divine  and  for 
ever  impeccable.  So  one  glance  exchanged  between  Mme. 
de  Bargeton  and  Lucien  outweighed  twelve  years  of  Zizine's 
connection  with  Francis  in  the  social  balance  ;  and  a  squeeze 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  133 

of  the  hand  drew  down  all  the  thunders  of  the  Charente  upon 
the  lovers. 

David  had  brought  a  little  secret  hoard  back  with  him  from 
Paris,  and  it  was  this  sum  that  he  set  aside  for  the  expenses  of 
his  marriage  and  for  the  building  of  the  second  floor  in  his 
father's  house.  His  father's  house  it  was;  but,  after  all,  was 
he  not  working  for  himself?  It  would  all  be  his  again  some 
day,  and  his  father  was  sixty-eight  years  old.  So  David  built 
a  timbered  second  story  for  Lucien,  so  as  not  to  put  too  great 
a  strain  on  the  old  rifted  house-walls.  He  took  pleasure  in 
making  the  rooms  where  the  fair  Eve  was  to  spend  her  life  as 
brave  as  might  be. 

It  was  a  time  of  blithe  and  unmixed  happiness  for  the 
friends.  Lucien  was  tired  of  the  shabbiness  of  provincial 
life  and  weary  of  the  sordid  frugality  that  looked  on  a  five- 
franc  piece  as  a  fortune,  but  he  bore  the  hardships  and  the 
pinching  thrift  without  grumbling.  His  moody  looks  had 
been  succeeded  by  an  expression  of  radiant  hope.  He  saw 
the  star  shining  above  his  head,  he  had  dreams  of  a  great  time 
to  come,  and  built  the  fabric  of  his  good  fortune  on  M.  de 
Bargeton's  tomb.  M.  de  Bargeton,  troubled  with  indigestion 
from  time  to  time,  cherished  the  happy  delusion  that  indiges- 
tion after  dinner  was  a  complaint  to  be  cured  by  a  hearty 
supper. 

By  the  beginning  of  September,  Lucien  had  ceased  to  be  a 
printer's  foreman ;  he  was  M.  de  Rubempre,  housed  sumptu- 
ously in  comparison  with  his  late  quarters  in  the  tumbledown 
attic  with  the  dormer  window  where  "  young  Chardon  "  had 
lived  in  L'Houmeau;  he  was  not  even  a  "man  of  L'Hou- 
meau ;"  he  lived  in  the  heights  of  Angouleme,  and  dined  four 
times  a  week  with  Mme.  de  Bargeton.  A  friendship  had  grown 
up  between  M.  de  Rubempre  and  the  bishop,  and  he  went  to 
the  palace.  His  occupations  put  him  upon  a  level  with  the 
highest  rank  ;  his  name  would  be  one  day  among  the  greatest 
names  of  France ;  and,  in  truth,  as  he  went  to  and  fro  in  his 


134  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

apartmemts,  the  pretty  sitting-room,  the  charming  bedroom, 
and  the  tastefully  furnished  study,  he  might  console  himself  for 
the  thought  that  he  drew  thirty  francs  every  month  out  of  his 
mother's  and  sister's  hard  earnings ;  for  he  saw  the  day  ap- 
proaching when  "An  Archer  of  Charles  IX.,"  the  historical 
romance  on  which  he  had  been  at  work  for  two  years,  and  a 
volume  of  verse  entitled  "Marguerites,"  should  spread  his 
fame  through  the  world  of  literature,  and  bring  in  money 
enough  to  repay  them  all,  his  mother  and  sister  and  David. 
So,  grown  great  in  his  own  eyes,  and  giving  ear  to  the  echoes 
of  his  name  in  the  future,  he  would  accept  present  sacrifices 
with  noble  assurance;  he  smiled  at  his  poverty,  he  relished 
the  sense  of  these  last  days  of  penury. 

Eve  and  David  had  set  Lucien's  happiness  before  their  own. 
They  had  put  off  their  wedding,  for  it  took  some  time  to 
paper  and  paint  their  rooms  and  to  buy  the  furniture,  and 
Lucien's  affairs  had  been  settled  first.  No  one  who  knew 
Lucien  could  wonder  at  their  devotion.  Lucien  was  so  en- 
gaging, he  had  such  winning  ways,  his  impatience  and  his 
desires  were  so  graciously  expressed,  that  his  cause  was  always 
won  before  he  opened  his  mouth  to  speak.  This  unlucky  gift 
of  fortune,  if  it  be  the  salvation  of  some,  is  the  ruin  of  many 
more.  Lucien  and  his  like  find  the  world  predisposed  in 
favor  of  youth  and  good  looks,  and  ready  to  protect  those 
who  give  it  pleasure  with  the  selfish  good-nature  that  flings 
alms  to  a  beggar  if  he  appeals  to  the  feelings  and  awakens 
emotion  ;  and  in  this  favor  many  a  grown  child  is  content  to 
bask  instead  of  putting  it  to  a  profitable  use.  With  mistaken 
notions  as  to  the  significance  and  the  motive  of  social  rela- 
tions, they  imagine  that  they  shall  always  meet  with  deceptive 
smiles;  and  so  at  last  the  moment  comes  for  them  when  the 
world  leaves  them  bald,  stripped  bare,  without  fortune  or 
worth,  like  an  elderly  coquette  by  the  door  of  a  salon,  or  a 
stray  rag  in  the  gutter. 

Eve  herself  had  wished  for  the  delay.     She  meant  to  estab- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  135 

lish  the  little  household  on  the  most  economical  footing,  and 
to  buy  only  strict  necessaries ;  but  what  could  two  lovers  refuse 
to  a  brother  who  watched  his  sister  at  her  work,  and  said  in 
tones  that  came  from  the  heart,  "  How  I  wish  I  could  sew  !  " 
The  sober,  observant  David  had  shared  in  the  devotion ;  and 
yet,  since  Lucien's  triumph,  David  had  watched  him  with 
misgivings ;  he  was  afraid  that  Lucien  would  change  toward 
them — afraid,  also,  that  he  would  look  down  upon  their 
homely  ways.  Once  or  twice,  to  try  his  brother,  David  had 
made  him  chose  between  home  pleasures  and  the  great  world, 
and  saw  that  Lucien  gave  up  the  delights  of  vanity  for  them, 
and  exclaimed  to  himself,  "  They  will  not  spoil  him  for  us !  " 
Now  and  again  the  three  friends  and  Mme.  Chardon  arranged 
picnic  parties  in  provincial  fashion — a  walk  in  the  woods 
along  the  Charente,  not  far  from  Angoulgme,  and  dinner  out 
on  the  grass,  David's  apprentice  bringing  the  basket  of  pro- 
visions to  some  place  appointed  beforehand ;  and  at  night 
they  would  come  back,  tired  somewhat,  but  the  whole  excur- 
sion had  not  cost  three  francs.  On  great  occasions,  when 
they  dined  at  a  restaurat,  as  it  is  called,  a  sort  of  country  inn, 
a  compromise  between  a  provincial  wineshop  and  a  Parisian 
guingutttc  (a  suburban  tea  garden),  they  would  spend  as  much 
as  five  francs,  divided  between  David  and  the  Chardons. 
David  gave  his  brother  infinite  credit  for  forsaking  Mme.  de 
Bargeton  and  grand  dinners  for  these  days  in  the  country,  and 
the  whole  party  made  much  of  the  great  man  of  AngouleTne. 

Matters  had  gone  so  far  that  the  new  home  was  very 
nearly  ready,  and  David  had  gone  over  to  Marsac  to  per- 
suade his  father  to  come  to  the  wedding,  not  without  a  hope 
that  the  old  man  might  relent  at  the  sight  of  his  daughter-in- 
law,  and  give  something  toward  the  heavy  expenses  of  the 
alterations,  when  there  befell  one  of  those  events  which  en- 
tirely change  the  face  of  things  in  a  small  town. 

Lucien  and  Louise  had  a  spy  in  Chatelet,  a  spy  who 
watched,  with  the  persistence  of  a  hate  in  which  avarice  and 


136  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

passion  are  blended,  for  an  opportunity  of  making  a  scandal. 
Sixte  meant  that  Mme.  de  Bargeton  should  compromise  her- 
self with  Lucien  in  such  a  way  that  she  should  be  "  lost,"  as 
the  saying  goes  ;  so  he  posed  as  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  humble 
confidant,  admired  Lucien  in  the  Rue  de  Minage,  and  pulled 
him  to  pieces  everywhere  else.  Nai's  had  gradually  given  him 
Us petites  entries  (informal  admission),  in  the  language  of  the 
court,  for  the  lady  no  longer  mistrusted  her  elderly  admirer  ; 
but  Chitelet  had  taken  too  much  for  granted — love  was  still 
in  the  platonic  stage,  to  the  great  despair  of  Louise  and 
Lucien. 

There  are,  for  that  matter,  love  affairs  which  start  with  a 
good  or  a  bad  beginning,  as  you  prefer  to  take  it.  Two 
creatures  launch  into  the  tactics  of  sentiment ;  they  talk  when 
they  should  be  acting,  and  skirmish  in  the  open  instead  of 
settling  down  to  a  siege.  And  so  they  grow  tired  of  one 
another,  expend  their  longings  in  empty  space ;  and,  having 
time  for  reflection,  come  to  their  own  conclusions  about  each 
other.  Many  a  passion  that  has  taken  the  field  in  gorgeous  ar- 
ray, with  colors  flying  and  an  ardor  fit  to  turn  the  world  upside 
down,  has  turned  home  again  without  a  victory,  inglorious 
and  crestfallen,  cutting  but  a  foolish  figure  after  these  vain 
alarums  and  excursions.  Such  mishaps  are  sometimes  due  to 
the  diffidence  of  youth,  sometimes  to  the  demurs  of  an  inex- 
perienced woman,  for  old  players  at  this  game  seldom  end  in 
a  fiasco  of  this  kind. 

Provincial  life,  moreover,  is  singularly  well  calculated  to 
keep  desire  unsatisfied  and  maintain  a  lover's  arguments  on 
the  intellectual  plane ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  the  very  ob- 
stacles placed  in  the  way  of  the  sweet  intercourse  which  binds 
lovers  so  closely  each  to  each,  hurry  ardent  souls  on  toward 
extreme  measures.  A  system  of  espionage  of  the  most  minute 
and  intricate  kind  underlies  provincial  life ;  every  house  is 
transparent,  the  solace  of  close  friendships  which  break  no 
moral  law  is  scarcely  allowed;  and  such  outrageously  scan- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  137 

dalous  constructions  are  put  upon  the  most  innocent  human 
intercourse,  that  many  a  woman's  character  is  taken  away 
without  cause.  One  here  and  there,  weighed  down  by  her 
unmerited  punishment,  will  regret  that  she  has  never  known 
to  the  full  the  forbidden  felicity  for  which  she  is  suffering. 
The  world,  which  blames  and  criticises  with  a  superficial 
knowledge  of  the  patent  facts  in  which  a  long  inward  struggle 
ends,  is  in  reality  a  prime  agent  in  bringing  such  scandals 
about ;  and  those  whose  voices  are  loudest  in  condemnation 
of  the  alleged  misconduct  of  some  slandered  woman  never 
give  a  thought  to  the  immediate  provocation  of  the  overt  step. 
That  step  many  a  woman  only  takes  after  she  has  been  unjustly 
accused  and  condemned,  and  Mme.  de  Bargeton  was  now  on 
the  verge  of  this  anomalous  position. 

The  obstacles  at  the  outset  of  a  passion  of  this  kind  are 
alarming  to  inexperience,  and  those  in  the  way  of  the  two 
lovers  were  very  like  the  bonds  by  which  the  population  of 
Lilliput  throttled  Gulliver,  a  multiplicity  of  nothings,  which 
make  all  movement  impossible,  and  baffle  the  most  vehement 
desires.  Mme.  de  Bargeton,  for  instance,  must  always  be 
visible.  If  she  had  denied  herself  to  visitors  when  Lucien 
was  with  her,  it  would  have  been  all  over  with  her ;  she  might 
as  well  have  run  away  with  him  at  once.  It  is  true  that  they 
sat  in  the  boudoir,  now  grown  so  familiar  to  Lucien  that  he 
felt  as  if  he  had  a  right  to  be  there  ;  but  the  doors  stood 
scrupulously  open,  and  everything  was  arranged  with  the  ut- 
most propriety.  M.  de  Bargeton  pervaded  the  house  like  a 
roach ;  it  never  entered  his  head  that  his  wife  could  wish  to 
be  alone  with  Lucien.  If  he  had  been  the  only  person  in 
the  way,  NaYs  could  have  gotten  rid  of  him,  sent  him  out  of 
the  house,  or  given  him  something  to  do  ;  but  he  was  not  the 
only  one ;  visitors  flocked  in  upon  her,  and  so  much  the  more 
as  curiosity  increased,  for  your  provincial  has  a  natural  bent 
for  teasing,  and  delights  to  thwart  a  growing  passion.  The 
servants  came  and  went  about  the  house  promiscuously  and 


138  L  OST  ILL  US1OXS. 

without  a  summons ;  they  had  formed  the  habits  with  a  mis- 
tress who  had  nothing  to  conceal  ;  any  change  now  made  in 
her  household  ways  was  tantamount  to  a  confession,  and  Angou- 
l&me  still  hung  in  doubt. 

Mme.  de  Bargeton  could  not  set  foot  outside  her  house  but 
the  whole  town  knew  whither  she  was  going.  To  take  a  walk 
alone  with  Lucien  out  of  Angouleme  would  have  been  a  de- 
cided measure  indeed ;  it  would  have  been  less  dangerous  to 
shut  herself  up  with  him  in  the  house.  There  would  have 
been  comments  the  next  day  if  Lucien  had  stayed  on  till  mid- 
night after  the  rooms  were  emptied.  Within  as  without  her 
house,  Mme.  de  Bargeton  lived  in  public. 

These  details  describe  life  in  the  provinces ;  an  intrigue  is 
either  openly  avoided  or  impossible  anywhere. 

Like  all  women  carried  away  for  the  first  time  by  passion, 
Louise  discovered  the  difficulties  of  her  position  one  by  one. 
They  frightened  her,  and  her  terror  reacted  upon  the  fond 
talk  that  fills  the  fairest  hours  which  lovers  spend  alone  to- 
gether. Mme.  de  Bargeton  had  no  country  house  whither 
she  could  take  her  beloved  poet,  after  the  manner  of  some 
women  who  will  forge  ingenious  pretexts  for  burying  them- 
selves in  the  wilderness ;  but,  weary  of  living  in  public  and 
pushed  to  extremities  by  a  tyranny  which  afforded  no  pleas- 
ures sweet  enough  to  compensate  for  the  heaviness  of  the 
yoke,  she  even  thought  of  Escarbas,  and  of  going  to  see  her 
aged  father — so  much  irritated  was  she  by  these  paltry  ob- 
stacles. 

Chatelet  did  not  believe  in  such  innocence.  He  lay  in 
wait  and  watched  Lucien  into  the  house,  and  followed  a  few 
minutes  later,  always  taking  M.  de  Chandour,  the  most  indis- 
creet person  in  the  clique,  along  with  him  ;  and,  putting  that 
gentleman  first,  hoped  to  find  a  surprise  by  such  perseverance 
in  pursuit  of  the  chance.  His  own  part  was  a  very  difficult 
one  to  play,  and  its  success  was  the  more  doubtful  because  he 
was  bound  to  appear  neutral  if  he  was  to  prompt  the  other 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  139 

actors  who  were  to  play  in  his  drama.  So,  to  give  himself  a 
countenance,  he  had  attached  himself  to  the  jealous  Amelie, 
the  better  to  lull  suspicion  in  Lucien  and  in  Mme.  de  Barge- 
ton,  who  was  not  without  perspicacity.  In  order  to  spy  upon 
the  pair,  he  had  contrived  of  late  to  open  up  a  stock  contro- 
versy on  the  point  with  M.  de  Chandour.  Chatelet  said  that 
Mme.  de  Bargeton  was  simply  amusing  herself  with  Lucien  ; 
she  was  too  proud,  too  high-born  to  stoop  to  the  apothecary's 
son.  The  role  of  incredulity  was  in  accordance  with  the  plan 
which  he  had  laid  down,  for  he  wished  to  appear  as  Mme.  de 
Bargeton's  champion.  Stanislas  de  Chandour  held  that  Mme. 
de  Bargeton  had  not  been  cruel  to  her  lover,  and  Amelie 
goaded  them  to  argument,  for  she  longed  to  know  the  truth. 
Each  stated  his  case,  and  (as  not  unfrequently  happens  in 
small  country  towns)  some  intimate  friends  of  the  house 
dropped  in  in  the  middle  of  the  argument.  Stanislas  and 
Chatelet  vied  with  each  other  in  backing  up  their  opinions 
by  observations  extremely  pertinent.  It  was  hardly  to  be 
expected  that  the  champions  should  not  seek  to  enlist  partisans. 
"What  do  you  yourself  think?"  they  asked,  each  of  his 
neighbor.  These  polemics  kept  Mme.  de  Bargeton  and  Lucien 
well  in  sight. 

At  length  one  day  Chatelet  called  attention  to  the  fact  that 
whenever  he  went  with  M.  de  Chandour  to  Mme.  de  Barge- 
ton's  and  found  Lucien  there,  there  was  not  a  sign  nor  a  trace 
of  anything  suspicious ;  the  boudoir  door  stood  open,  the  ser- 
vants came  and  went,  there  was  nothing  mysterious  to  betray 
the  sweet  crime  of  love,  and  so  forth  and  so  forth.  Stanislas, 
who  did  not  lack  a  certain  spice  of  stupidity  in  his  composi- 
tion, vowed  that  he  would  cross  the  room  on  tiptoe  the  next 
day,  and  the  perfidious  Ame'lie  held  him  to  his  bargain. 

For  Lucien  that  morrow  was  the  day  on  which  a  young  man 
tugs  out  some  of  the  hairs  of  his  head  and  inwardly  vows  that 
he  will  give  up  the  foolish  business  of  sighing.  He  was  ac- 
customed to  his  situation.  The  poet,  who  had  seated  him- 


140  LOST  ILLISIONS. 

self  so  bashfully  in  the  boudoir-sanctuary  of  the  queen  of 
Angouldme,  had  been  transformed  into  an  urgent  lover.  Six 
months  had  been  enough  to  bring  him  on  a  level  with  Louise, 
and  now  he  would  fain  be  her  lord  and  master.  He  left  home 
with  a  settled  determination  to  be  extravagant  in  his  behavior; 
he  would  say  that  it  was  a  matter  of  life  or  death  to  him  ;  he 
would  bring  all  the  resources  of  torrid  eloquence  into  play ; 
he  would  cry  that  he  had  lost  his  head,  that  he  could  not 
think,  could  not  write  a  line.  The  horror  that  some  women 
feel  for  premeditation  does  honor  to  their  delicacy;  they 
would  rather  surrender  upon  the  impulse  of  passion  than  in 
fulfillment  of  a  contract.  In  general,  prescribed  happiness  is 
not  the  kind  that  any  of  us  desire. 

Mme.  de  Bargeton  read  fixed  purpose  in  Lucien's  eyes  and 
forehead  and  in  the  agitation  of  his  face  and  manner,  and  pro- 
posed to  herself  to  baffle  him,  urged  thereto  partly  by  a  spirit 
of  contradiction,  partly  also  by  an  exalted  conception  of  love. 
Being  given  to  exaggeration,  she  set  an  exaggerated  value  upon 
her  person.  She  looked  upon  herself  as  a  sovereign  lady,  a 
Beatrice,  a  Laura.  She  enthroned  herself,  like  some  dame  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  upon  a  dais,  looking  down  upon  the  tourney 
of  literature,  and  meant  that  Lucien,  as  in  duty  bound,  should 
win  her  by  his  prowess  in  the  field ;  he  must  eclipse  "  the  sub- 
lime child,"  and  Lamartine,  and  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  Byron. 
The  noble  creature  regarded  her  love  as  a  stimulating  power ; 
the  desire  which  she  had  kindled  in  Lucien  should  give  him 
the  energy  to  win  glory  for  himself.  This  feminine  quixotry 
is  a  sentiment  which  hallows  love  and  turns  it  to  worthy  uses ; 
it  exalts  and  reverences  love.  Mme.  de  Bargeton  having 
made  up  her  mind  to  play  the  part  of  Dulcinea  in  Lucien's 
life  for  seven  or  eight  years  to  come,  desired,  like  many 
another  provincial,  to  give  herself  as  the  reward  of  prolonged 
service,  a  trial  of  constancy  which  should  give  her  time  to 
judge  her  lover. 

Lucien  began  the  strife  by  a  piece  of  vehement  petulance, 


LOST  ILLLSIONS.  141 

at  which  a  woman  laughs  so  long  as  she  is  heart-free,  and  sad- 
dens only  when  she  loves;  whereupon  Louise  took  a  lofty  tone, 
and  began  one  of  her  long  orations,  interlarded  with  high- 
sounding  words. 

"  Was  that  your  promise  to  me,  Lucien  ?  "  she  said  as  she 
made  an  end.  "  Do  not  sow  regrets  in  the  present  time,  so 
sweet  as  it  is,  to  poison  my  after-life.  Do  not  spoil  the  future, 
and,  I  say  it  with  pride,  do  not  spoil  the  present !  Is  not  my 
whole  heart  yours?  What  more  must  you  have?  Can  it  be 
that  your  love  is  influenced  by  the  clamor  of  the  senses,  when 
it  is  the  noblest  privilege  of  the  beloved  to  silence  them  ? 
For  whom  do  you  take  me  ?  Am  I  not  your  Beatrice  ?  If  I 
am  not  something  more  than  a  woman  for  you,  I  am  less  than 
a  woman." 

"That  is  just  what  you  might  say  to  a  man  if  you  cared 
nothing  at  all  for  him,"  cried  Lucien,  frantic  with  passion. 

"  If  you  cannot  feel  all  the  sincere  love  underlying  my 
ideas,  you  will  never  be  worthy  of  me." 

"  You  are  throwing  doubt  on  my  love  to  dispense  yourself 
from  responding  to  it,"  cried  Lucien,  and  he  flung  himself 
weeping  at  her  feet. 

The  poor  boy  cried  in  earnest  at  the  prospect  of  remaining 
so  long  at  the  gate  of  paradise.  The  tears  of  the  poet,  who 
feels  that  he  is  humbled  through  his  strength,  were  mingled 
with  childish  crying  for  a  plaything. 

"  You  have  never  loved  me,"  he  cried. 

"  You  do  not  believe  what  you  say,"  she  answered,  flattered 
by  his  violence. 

"Then  give  me  proof  that  you  are  mine,"  said  the  dis- 
heveled poet. 

Just  at  that  moment  Stanislas  came  up  unheard  by  either  of 
the  pair.  He  beheld  Lucien  in  tears,  half-reclining  on  the 
floor,  with  his  head  on  Louise's  knee.  The  attitude  was  sus- 
picious enough  to  satisfy  Stanislas ;  he  turned  sharply  round 
upon  Chitelet,  who  stood  at  the  door  of  the  salon.  Mme.  de 


142  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Bargeton  sprang  up  in  a  moment,  but  the  spies  beat  a  pre- 
cipitate retreat  like  intruders,  and  she  was  not  quick  enough 
for  them. 

"  Who  came  just  now  ?  "  she  asked  the  servants. 

"  Messieurs  de  Chandour  and  du  Chatelet,"  said  Gentil,  her 
old  footman. 

Mme.  de  Bargeton  went  back,  pale  and  trembling,  to  her 
boudoir. 

"  If  they  saw  you  just  now,  I  am  lost,"  she  told  Lucien. 

"  So  much  the  better  !  "  exclaimed  the  poet,  and  she  smiled 
to  hear  the  cry,  so  full  of  selfish  love. 

A  story  of  this  kind  is  aggravated  in  the  provinces  by  the 
way  in  which  it  is  told.  Everybody  knew  in  a  moment  that 
Lucien  had  been  detected  at  Na'i's*  feet.  M.  de  Chandour, 
elated  by  the  important  part  he  played  in  the  affair,  went  first 
to  tell  the  great  news  at  the  club,  and  thence  from  house  to 
house,  Chatelet  hastening  to  say  that  he  had  seen  nothing; 
but  by  putting  himself  out  of  court,  he  egged  Stanislas  on  to 
talk,  he  drew  him  on  to  add  fresh  details ;  and  Stanislas, 
thinking  himself  very  witty,  added  a  little  to  the  tale  every 
time  that  he  told  it.  Every  one  flocked  to  Amelie's  house 
that  evening,  for  by  that  time  the  most  exaggerated  versions 
of  the  story  were  in  circulation  among  the  Angoulgme  nobility, 
every  narrator  having  followed  Stanislas'  example.  Women 
and  men  were  alike  impatient  to  know  the  truth ;  and  the 
women  who  put  their  hands  before  their  faces  and  shrieked 
the  loudest  were  none  other  than  Mesdames  Amelie,  Zephirine, 
Fifine,  and  Lolotte,  all  with  more  or  less  heavy  indictments 
of  illicit  love  laid  to  their  charge.  There  were  variations  in 
every  key  upon  the  painful  theme. 

"Well,  well,"  said  one  of  the  ladies,  "poor  Na7s  !  have 
you  heard  about  it  ?  I  do  not  believe  it  myself,  she  has  a 
whole  blameless  record  behind  her ;  she  is  far  too  proud  to  be 
anything  but  a  patroness  to  Monsieur  Chardon.  Still,  if  it  is 
true,  I  pity  her  with  all  my  heart." 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  143 

"  She  is  all  the  more  to  be  pitied  because  she  is  making 
herself  frightfully  ridiculous ;  she  is  old  enough  to  be  Monsieur 
Lulu's  mother,  as  Jacques  called  him.  The  little  poet  is 
twenty-two  at  most ;  and  Na"s,  between  ourselves,  is  quite 
forty." 

"For  my  own  part,"  said  M.  du  Chatelet,  "I  think  that 
Monsieur  de  Rubempre's  position  in  itself  proves  NaVs  inno- 
cence. A  man  does  not  go  down  on  his  knees  to  ask  for  what 
he  has  had  already." 

"  That  is  as  may  be  !  "  said  Francis,  with  levity  that  brought 
Zephirine's  disapproving  glance  down  upon  him. 

"  Do  just  tell  us  how  it  really  was,"  they  besought  Stanislas, 
and  formed  a  small  secret  committee  in  a  corner  of  the  salon. 

Stanislas,  in  the  long  length,  had  put  together  a  little  story 
full  of  facetious  suggestions,  and  accompanied  it  with  panto- 
mime, which  made  the  thing  prodigiously  worse. 

"It  is  incredible!  " 

"At  midday?" 

"  Na'is  was  the  last  person  whom  I  should  have  suspected  !" 

"What  will  she  do  now?" 

Then  followed  more  comments  and  suppositions  without 
end.  ChUtelet  took  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  part ;  but  he  de- 
fended her  so  ill  that  he  stirred  the  fire  of  gossip  instead  of 
putting  it  out. 

Lili,  disconsolate  over  the  fall  of  the  fairest  angel  in  the 
Angoumoisin  hierarchy,  went,  dissolved  in  tears,  to  carry  the 
news  to  the  palace.  When  the  delighted  Chatelet  was  con- 
vinced that  the  whole  town  was  agog,  he  went  off  to  Mme. 
de  Bargeton's,  where,  alas  !  there  was  but  one  game  of  whist 
that  night,  and  diplomatically  asked  NaTs  for  a  little  talk  in 
the  boudoir.  They  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  and  Chatelet  began 
in  an  undertone — 

"You  know  what  all  Angouleme  is  talking  about,  of 
course?" 

"No." 


144  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"Very  well,  I  am  too  much  your  friend  to  leave  you  in 
ignorance.  I  am  bound  to  put  you  in  a  position  to  silence 
slanders,  invented,  no  doubt,  by  Amelie,  who  has  the  over- 
weening audacity  to  regard  herself  as  your  rival.  I  came  to 
call  on  you  this  morning  with  that  monkey  of  a  Stanislas ;  he 
was  a  few  paces  ahead  of  me,  and  he  came  so  far  "  (pointing 
to  the  door  of  the  boudoir) ;  "  he  says  that  he  saw  you  and 
Monsieur  de  Rubempre  in  such  a  position  that  he  could  not 
enter,  he  turned  round  upon  me,  quite  bewildered  as  I  was, 
and  hurried  me  away  before  I  had  time  to  think ;  we  were  out 
in  Beaulieu  before  he  told  me  why  we  had  beaten  a  retreat. 
If  I  had  known,  I  would  not  have  stirred  out  of  the  house 
until  I  had  cleared  up  the  matter  and  exonerated  you,  but  it 
would  have  proved  nothing  to  go  back  again  then. 

"  Now,  whether  Stanislas'  eyes  deceived  him,  or  whether 
he  is  right,  he  must  have  made  a  mistake.  Dear  Na'is,  do  not 
let  that  dolt  trifle  with  your  life,  your  honor,  your  future; 
stop  his  mouth  at  once.  You  know  my  position  here.  I 
have  need  of  all  these  people,  but  still  I  am  entirely  yours. 
Dispose  of  a  life  that  belongs  to  you.  You  have  rejected  my 
prayers,  but  my  heart  is  always  yours ;  I  am  ready  to  prove 
my  love  for  you  at  any  time  and  in  any  way.  Yes,  I  will 
watch  over  you  like  a  faithful  servant,  for  no  reward,  but 
simply  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure  that  it  is  to  me  to  do  any- 
thing for  you,  even  if  you  do  not  know  of  it.  This  morning 
I  have  said  everywhere  that  I  was  at  the  door  of  the  salon, 
and  had  seen  nothing.  If  you  are  asked  to  give  the  name  of 
the  person  who  told  you  about  this  gossip,  pray  make  use  of 
me.  I  should  be  very  proud  to  be  your  acknowledged  cham- 
pion ;  but,  between  ourselves,  Monsieur  de  Bargeton  is  the 
proper  person  to  ask  Stanislas  for  an  explanation.  Suppose 
that  young  Rubempr£  had  behaved  foolishly,  a  woman's  char- 
acter ought  not  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  the  first  hare-brained 
boy  who  flings  himself  at  her  feet.  That  is  what  I  have  been 
saying." 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  145 

NaTs  bowed  in  acknowledgment,  and  looked  thoughtful. 
She  was  weary  to  disgust  of  provincial  life.  Ch&telet  had 
scarcely  begun  before  her  mind  turned  to  Paris.  Meanwhile 
Mme.  de  Bargeton's  adorer  found  the  silence  somewhat  awk- 
ward. 

"  Dispose  of  me,  I  repeat,"  he  said. 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  the  lady. 

"What  do  you  think  of  doing?" 

"I  shall  see." 

A  prolonged  pause. 

"Are  you  so  fond  of  that  young  Rubempr6?" 

A  proud  smile  stole  over  her  lips,  she  folded  her  arms,  and 
fixed  her  gaze  on  the  curtains.  Ch^telet  went  out ;  he  could 
not  read  that  high  heart. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  Lucien  had  taken  his  leave,  and 
likewise  the  four  old  gentlemen  who  came  for  their  whist 
without  troubling  themselves  about  ill-founded  tittle-tattle, 
M.  de  Bargeton  was  preparing  to  go  to  bed,  and  had  opened 
his  mouth  to  bid  his  wife  good-night,  when  she  stopped  him. 

"Come  here,  dear,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,"  she 
said,  with  a  certain  solemnity. 

M.  de  Bargeton  followed  her  into  the  boudoir. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  done  wrongly,"  she  said,  "  to  show  a 
warm  interest  in  Monsieur  de  Rubempr£,  which  he,  as  well 
as  the  stupid  people  here  in  the  town,  has  misinterpreted. 
This  morning  Lucien  threw  himself  here  at  my  feet  with  a 
declaration,  and  Stanislas  happened  to  come  in  just  as  I  told 
the  boy  to  get  up  again.  A  woman,  under  any  circumstances, 
has  claims  which  courtesy  prescribes  to  a  gentleman ;  but,  in 
contempt  of  these,  Stanislas  has  been  saying  that  he  came 
unexpectedly  and  found  us  in  an  equivocal  position.  I  was 
treating  the  boy  as  he  deserved.  If  the  young  scatterbrain 
knew  of  the  scandal  caused  by  his  folly,  he  would  go,  I  am 
convinced,  to  insult  Stanislas,  and  compel  him  to  fight.  That 
would  simply  be  a  public  proclamation  of  his  love.  I  need 
10 


146  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

not  tell  you  that  your  wife  is  pure;  but,  if  you  think,  you  will 
see  that  it  is  something  dishonoring  for  both  you  and  me  if 
Monsieur  de  Rubempre'  defends  her.  Go  at  once  to  Stanislas 
and  ask  him  to  give  you  satisfaction  for  his  insulting  language ; 
and,  mind,  you  must  not  accept  any  explanation  short  of  a 
full  and  public  retractation  in  the  presence  of  witnesses  of 
credit.  In  this  way  you  will  win  back  the  respect  of  all  right- 
minded  people ;  you  will  behave  like  a  man  of  spirit  and  a 
gentleman,  and  you  will  have  a  right  to  my  esteem.  I  shall 
send  Gentil  on  horseback  to  the  Escarbas ;  my  father  must 
be  your  second  ;  old  as  he  is,  I  know  that  he  is  the  man  to 
trample  this  puppet  under  foot  that  has  smirched  the  reputa- 
tion of  a  Negrepelisse.  You  have  the  choice  of  weapons, 
choose  pistols;  you  are  an, admirable  shot." 

"  I  am  going,"  said  M.  de  Bargeton,  and  he  took  his  hat 
and  walking  cane. 

"  Good,  that  is  how  I  like  a  man  to  behave,  dear  ;  you  are 
a  gentleman,"  said  his  wife.  She  felt  touched  by  his  con- 
duct, and  made  the  old  man  very  happy  and  proud  by  putting 
up  her  forehead  for  a  kiss.  She  felt  something  like  a  mater- 
nal affection  for  the  great  child  ;  and  when  the  carriage  gate- 
way had  shut  with  a  clang  behind  him,  the  tears  came  into 
her  eyes  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  How  he  loves  me  !  "  she  thought.  "  He  clings  to  life, 
poor  dear  man,  and  yet  he  would  give  his  life  for  me." 

It  did  not  trouble  M.  de  Bargeton  that  he  must  stand  up 
and  face  his  man  on  the  morrow,  and  look  coolly  into  the 
muzzle  of  a  pistol  pointed  straight  at  him  ;  no,  only  one 
thing  in  the  business  made  him  feel  uncomfortable,  and  on 
the  way  to  M.  de  Chandour's  house  he  quaked  inwardly. 

"What  shall  I  say?"  he  thought  within  himself;  "  NaTs 
really  ought  to  have  told  me  what  to  say,"  and  the  good  gen- 
tleman racked  his  brains  to  compose  a  speech  that  should  not 
be  ridiculous. 

But  people  of  M.  de  Bargeton's  stamp,  who  live  perforce 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  147 

in  silence  because  their  capacity  is  limited  and  their  outlook 
circumscribed,  often  behave  at  great  crises  with  a  ready-made 
solemnity.  If  they  say  little,  it  naturally  follows  that  they 
say  little  that  is  foolish ;  their  extreme  lack  of  confidence 
leads  them  to  think  a  good  deal  over  the  remarks  that  they 
are  obliged  to  make  ;  and,  like  Balaam's  ass,  they  speak  mar- 
velously  to  the  point  if  a  miracle  loosens  their  tongues.  So 
M.  de  Bargeton  bore  himself  like  a  man  of  uncommon  sense 
and  spirit,  and  justified  the  opinion  of  those  who  held  that 
he  was  a  philosopher  of  the  school  of  Pythagoras. 

He  reached  Stanislas"  house  at  nine  o'clock,  bowed  silently 
to  Amelie  before  a  whole  room  full  of  people,  and  greeted 
others  in  turn  with  that  simple  smile  of  his,  which  under  the 
present  circumstances  seemed  profoundly  ironical.  There  fol- 
lowed a  great  silence,  like  the  pause  before  a  storm.  Chitelet 
had  made  his  way  back  again,  and  now  looked  in  a  very  sig- 
nificant fashion  from  M.  de  Bargeton  to  Stanislas,  whom  the 
injured  gentleman  accosted  politely. 

Chatelet  knew  what  a  visit  meant  at  this  time  of  night, 
when  old  M.  de  Bargeton  was  invariably  in  his  bed.  It  was 
evidently  Na'is  who  had  set  the  feeble  arm  in  motion.  ChStelet 
was  on  such  a  footing  in  that  house  that  he  had  some  right  to 
interfere  in  family  concerns.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and  took 
M.  de  Bargeton,  saying,  "  Do  you  wish  to  speak  to  Stanislas?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  well  pleased  to  find  a  go- 
between  who  perhaps  might  say  his  say  for  him. 

"  Very  well ;  go  into  Amelie's  bedroom,"  said  the  comp- 
troller of  excise,  likewise  well  pleased  at  the  prospect  of  a 
duel  which  possibly  might  make  Mme.  de  Bargeton  a  widow, 
while  it  put  a  bar  between  her  and  Lucien,  the  cause  of  the 
quarrel.  Then  Chatelet  went  to  M.  de  Chandour. 

"  Stanislas,"  he  said,  "  here  comes  Bargeton,  to  call  you  to 
account,  no  doubt,  for  the  things  you  have  been  saying  about 
NaTs.  Go  into  your  wife's  room,  and  behave,  both  of  you, 
like  gentlemen.  Keep  the  thing  very  quiet,  make  a  great 


148  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

show  of  politeness,  behave  with  phlegmatic  British  dignity,  in 
short." 

In  another  minute  Stanislas  and  Chatelet  went  to  Bargeton. 

"Sir,"  said  the  injured  husband,  "do  you  say  that  you 
discovered  Madame  de  Bargeton  and  Monsieur  de  Rubempr6 
in  an  equivocal  position  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  Chardon,"  corrected  Stanislas  with  ironical 
stress ;  he  did  not  take  Bargeton  seriously. 

"  So  be  it,"  answered  the  other.  "  If  you  do  not  withdraw 
your  assertions  at  once  before  the  company  now  in  your 
house,  I  must  ask  you  to  look  for  a  second.  My  father-in-law, 
Monsieur  de  Negrepelisse,  will  wait  upon  you  at  four  o'clock 
to-morrow  morning.  Both  of  us  may  as  well  make  our  final 
arrangements,  for  the  only  way  out  of  the  affair  is  the  one 
that  I  have  indicated.  I  choose  pistols,  as  the  insulted 
party." 

This  was  the  speech  that  M.  de  Bargeton  had  ruminated  on 
the  way ;  it  was  the  longest  that  he  had  ever  made  in  life. 
He  brought  it  out  without  excitement  or  vehemence,  in  the 
simplest  way  in  the  world.  Stanislas  turned  pale.  "After 
all,  what  did  I  see?  "  said  he  to  himself. 

Put  between  the  shame  of  eating  his  words  before  the  whole 
town,  and  fear,  hideous  fear  that  caught  him  by  the  throat 
with  burning  fingers ;  confronted  by  this  mute  personage,  who 
seemed  in  no  humor  to  stand  nonsense,  Stanislas  chose  the 
more  remote  peril. 

"All  right.  To-morrow  morning,"  he  said,  thinking  that 
the  matter  might  be  arranged  somehow  or  other. 

The  three  went  back  to  the  room.  Everybody  scanned 
their  faces  as  they  came  in  ;  Chatelet  was  smiling,  M.  de 
Bargeton  looked  exactly  as  if  he  were  in  his  own  house,  but 
Stanislas  looked  ghastly  pale.  At  the  sight  of  his  face,  some 
of  the  women  here  and  there  guessed  the  nature  of  the  con- 
ference, and  the  whisper  "  They  are  going  to  fight !  "  circu- 
lated from  ear  to  ear.  One-half  the  room  was  of  the  opinion 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  149 

that  Stanislas  was  in  the  wrong,  his  white  face  and  his  de- 
meanor convicted  him  of  a  lie;  the  other  half  admired  M.  de 
Bargeton's  attitude.  Chatelet  was  solemn  and  mysterious. 
M.  de  Bargeton  stayed  a  few  minutes,  scrutinized  people's 
faces,  and  retired. 

"  Have  you  pistols?  "  Chatelet  asked  in  a  whisper  of  Stan- 
islas, who  shook  from  head  to  foot. 

Amelie  knew  what  it  all  meant.  She  felt  ill,  and  the  women 
flocked  about  her  to  take  her  into  her  bedroom.  There  was 
a  terrific  sensation ;  everybody  talked  at  once.  The  men 
stopped  in  the  drawing-room,  and  declared  with  one  voice 
that  M.  de  Bargeton  was  within  his  right. 

"  Would  you  have  thought  the  old  fogey  capable  of  acting 
like  this?"  asked  M.  de  Saintot. 

"But  he  was  a  crack-shot  when  he  was  young,"  said  the 
pitiless  Jacques.  "  My  father  often  used  to  tell  me  of  Barge- 
ton's  exploits." 

"  Pooh  !  Put  them  at  twenty  paces,  and  they  will  miss  each 
other  if  you  give  them  cavalry  pistols,"  said  Francis  addressing 
Chatelet. 

Ch^telet  stayed  after  the  rest  had  gone  to  reassure  Stanislas 
and  his  wife,  and  to  explain  that  all  would  go  off  well.  In  a 
duel  between  a  man  of  sixty  and  a  man  of  thirty-five,  all  the 
advantage  lay  with  the  latter. 

Early  next  morning,  as  Lucien  sat  at  breakfast  with  David, 
who  had  come  back  alone  from  Marsac,  in  came  Mme.  Char- 
don  with  a  scared  face. 

"Well,  Lucien,"  she  said,  "  have  you  heard  the  news? 
Every  one  is  talking  of  it,  even  the  people  in  the  market. 
Monsieur  de  Bargeton  all  but  killed  Monsieur  de  Chandour  this 
morning  in  Monsieur  Tulloy's  meadow;  people  are  making 
puns  on  the  name.*  It  seems  that  Monsieur  de  Chandour 
said  that  he  found  you  with  Madame  de  Bargeton  yester- 
day." 

*  Tue  1'oie  (killed  the  goose). 


150  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"It  is  a  lie!  Madame  de  Bargeton  is  innocent,"  cried 
Lucien. 

"  I  heard  about  the  duel  from  a  countryman,  who  saw  it  all 
from  his  cart.  Monsieur  de  Negrepelisse  came  over  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  to  be  Monsieur  de  Bargeton's  second  ; 
he  told  Monsieur  de  Chandour  that  if  anything  happened  to 
his  son-in-law,  he  should  avenge  him.  A  cavalry  officer  lent 
the  pistols ;  Monsieur  de  Negrepelisse  tried  them  over  and 
over  again.  Monsieur  de  Chatelet  tried  to  prevent  them  from 
practicing  with  the  pistols,  but  they  referred  the  question  to 
the  officer ;  and  he  said  that,  unless  they  meant  to  behave  like 
children,  they  ought  to  have  pistols  in  working  order.  The 
seconds  put  them  at  twenty-five  paces.  Monsieur  de  Bargeton 
looked  as  if  he  had  just  come  out  for  a  walk.  He  was  the  first 
to  fire ;  the  ball  lodged  in  Monsieur  de  Chandour's  neck,  and 
he  dropped  before  he  could  return  the  shot.  The  house- 
surgeon  at  the  hospital  has  just  said  that  Monsieur  de  Chandour 
will  have  a  wry  neck  for  the  rest  of  his  days.  I  came  to  tell 
you  how  it  ended,  lest  you  should  go  to  Madame  de  Bargeton's 
or  show  yourself  in  Angoulgme,  for  some  of  Monsieur  de 
Chandour's  friends  might  call  you  out." 

As  she  spoke,  the  apprentice  brought  in  Gentil,  M.  de 
Bargetons'  footman.  The  man  had  come  with  a  note  for 
Lucien ;  it  was  from  Louise. 

"  You  have  doubtless  heard  the  news,"  she  wrote,  "of  the 
duel  between  Chandour  and  my  husband.  We  shall  not  be 
at  home  to  any  one  to-day.  Be  careful ;  do  not  show  your- 
self. I  ask  this  in  the  name  of  the  affection  you  bear  me.  Do 
you  not  think  that  it  would  be  best  to  spend  this  melancholy 
day  in  listening  to  your  Beatrice,  whose  whole  life  has  been 
changed  by  this  event,  who  has  a  thousand  things  to  say  to 
you?" 

"Luckily,  my  marriage  is  fixed  for  the  day  after  to-mor- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  151 

row,"  said  David,  "and  you  will  have  an  excuse  for  not  going 
to  see  Madame  de  Bargeton  quite  so  often." 

"  Dear  David,"  returned  Lucien,  "  she  asks  me  to  go  to 
her  to-day ;  and  I  ought  to  do  as  she  wishes,  I  think ;  she 
knows  better  than  we  do  how  I  should  act  in  the  present  state 
of  things." 

"  Then  is  everything  ready  here?  "  asked  Mme.  Chardon. 

"Come  and  see,"  cried  David,  delighted  to  exhibit  the 
transformation  of  the  second  floor.  Everything  there  was  new 
and  fresh,  everything  was  pervaded  by  the  sweet  influences 
of  early  married  days,  still  crowned  by  the  wreath  of  orange 
blossoms  and  the  bridal  veil ;  days  when  the  springtide  of  love 
finds  its  reflection  in  material  things,  and  everything  is  white 
and  spotless  and  has  not  lost  its  bloom. 

"  Eve's  home  will  be  fit  for  a  princess,"  said  the  mother, 
"  but  you  have  spent  too  much,  you  have  been  reckless." 

David  smiled  by  way  of  answer.  But  Mme.  Chardon  had 
touched  the  sore  spot  in  a  hidden  wound  which  caused  the 
poor  lover  cruel  pangs.  The  cost  of  carrying  out  his  ideas 
had  far  exceeded  his  estimates ;  he  could  not  afford  to  build 
above  the  shed.  His  mother-in-law  must  wait  a  while  for  the 
home  he  had  meant  to  make  for  her.  There  is  nothing  more 
keenly  painful  to  a  generous  nature  than  a  failure  to  keep 
such  promises  as  these  ;  it  is  like  mortification  to  the  little 
vanities  of  affection,  as  they  may  be  styled.  David  sedulously 
hid  his  embarrassment  to  spare  Lucien  ;  he  was  afraid  that 
Lucien  might  be  overwhelmed  by  the  sacrifices  made  for  his 
sake. 

"  Eve  and  her  girl  friends  have  been  working  very  hard 
too,"  said  Mme.  de  Chardon.  "The  wedding  clothes  and 
the  house-linen  are  all  ready.  The  girls  are  so  fond  of  her 
that,  without  letting  her  know  about  it,  they  have  covered 
the  mattresses  with  white  twill  and  a  rose-colored  piping  at 
the  edges.  So  pretty  !  It  makes  one  wish  one  was  going  to 
be  married." 


152  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Mother  and  daughter  had  spent  all  their  little  savings  to 
furnish  David's  home  with  the  things  of  which  a  young  bach- 
elor never  thinks.  They  knew  that  he  was  furnishing  with 
great  splendor,  for  something  had  been  said  about  ordering  a 
dinner-service  from  Limoges,  and  the  two  women  had  striven 
to  make  Eve's  contributions  to  the  housekeeping  worthy  of 
David's.  This  little  emulation  in  love  and  generosity  could 
but  bring  the  husband  and  wife  into  difficulties  at  the  very 
outset  of  their  married  life,  with  every  sign  of  homely  comfort 
about  them,  comfort  that  might  be  regarded  as  positive  luxury 
in  a  place  so  behind  the  times  as  the  Angoulgme  of  those 
days. 

As  soon  as  Lucien  saw  his  mother  and  David  enter  the 
bedroom  with  the  blue-and-white  draperies  and  neat  furniture 
that  he  knew,  he  slipped  away  to  Mme.  de  Bargeton.  He 
found  NaVs  at  table  with  her  husband  ;  M.  de  Eargeton's 
early  morning  walk  had  sharpened  his  appetite,  and  he  was 
breakfasting  quite  unconcernedly  after  all  that  had  passed. 
Lucien  saw  the  dignified  face  of  M.  de  Negrepelisse,  the  old 
provincial  noble,  a  relic  of  the  old  French  noblesse,  sitting 
beside  Na'is. 

When  Gentil  announced  M.  de  Rubempr6,  the  white- 
headed  old  man  gave  him  a  keen,  curious  glance  ;  the  father 
was  anxious  to  form  his  own  opinions  of  this  man  whom  his 
daughter  had  singled  out  for  notice.  Lucien's  extreme  beauty 
made  such  a  vivid  impression  upon  him  that  he  could  not 
repress  an  approving  glance  ;  but  at  the  same  time  he  seemed 
to  regard  the  affair  as  a  flirtation,  a  mere  passing  fancy  on  his 
daughter's  part.  Breakfast  over  Louise  could  leave  her  father 
and  M.  de  Bargeton  together ;  she  beckoned  Lucien  to  follow 
her  as  she  withdrew. 

"Dear,"  she  said,  and  the  tones  of  her  voice  were  half- 
glad,  half-melancholy,  "I  am  going  to  Paris,  and  my  father 
is  taking  Bargeton  back  with  him  to  the  Escarbas,  where  he 
will  stay  during  my  absence.  Madame  d'Espard  (she  was  a 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  153 

Blamont-Chauvry  before  her  marriage)  has  great  influence 
herself  and  influential  relations.  The  d'Espards  are  connec- 
tions of  ours  ;  they  are  the  older  branch  of  the  Negrepelisses ; 
and,  if  she  vouchsafes  to  acknowledge  the  relationship,  I  in- 
tend to  cultivate  her  a  good  deal ;  she  may  perhaps  procure  a 
place  for  Bargeton.  At  my  solicitation  it  might  be  desired 
at  court  that  he  should  represent  the  Charente,  and  that  would 
be  a  step  toward  his  election  here.  If  he  were  a  deputy,  it 
would  further  other  steps  that  I  wish  to  take  in  Paris. 
You,  my  darling,  have  brought  about  this  change  in  my 
life.  After  this  morning's  duel,  I  am  obliged  to  shut  up 
my  house  for  some  time ;  for  there  will  be  people  who  will 
side  with  the  Chandours  against  us.  In  our  position,  and 
in  a  small  town,  absence  is  the  only  way  of  softening 
down  bad  feeling.  But  I  shall  either  succeed,  and  never 
see  Angouleme  again,  or  I  shall  not  succeed,  and  then  I 
mean  to  wait  in  Paris  until  the  time  comes  when  I  can 
spend  my  summers  at  the  Escarbas  and  the  winters  in  Paris. 
It  is  the  only  life  for  a  woman  of  quality,  and  I  have 
waited  too  long  before  entering  upon  it.  The  one  day 
will  be  enough  for  our  preparations ;  to-morrow  night  I 
shall  set  out,  and  you  are  coming  with  me,  are  you  not  ? 
You  shall  start  first.  I  will  overtake  you  between  Mansle 
and  Ruffec,  and  we  shall  soon  be  in  Paris.  There,  beloved, 
is  the  life  for  a  man  who  has  anything  in  him.  We  are 
only  at  our  ease  among  our  equals ;  we  are  uncomfortable 
in  any  other  society.  Paris,  beside,  is  the  capital  of  the 
intellectual  world,  the  stage  on  which  you  will  succeed ; 
overleap  the  gulf  that  separates  us  quickly.  You  must  not 
allow  your  ideas  to  grow  rancid  in  the  provinces;  put 
yourself  into  communication  at  once  with  the  great  men 
who  represent  the  nineteenth  century.  Try  to  stand  well 
with  the  court  and  with  those  in  power.  No  honor,  no  dis- 
tinction comes  to  seek  out  the  talent  that  perishes  for  lack 
of  light  in  a  little  town ;  tell  me,  if  you  can,  the  name  of 


154  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

any  great  work  of  art  executed  in  the  provinces.  On  the 
contrary,  see  how  Jean-Jacques,  himself  sublime  in  his  pov- 
erty, felt  the  irresistible  attraction  of  that  sun  of  the  intellectual 
world,  which  produces  ever-new  glories  and  stimulates  the 
intellect — Paris,  where  men  rub  against  one  another.  What 
is  it  but  your  duty  to  hasten  to  take  your  place  in  the  succes- 
sion of  pleiades  that  rise  from  generation  to  generation? 
You  have  no  idea  how  it  contributes  to  the  success  of  a  clever 
young  man  to  be  brought  into  a  high  light,  socially  speaking. 
I  will  introduce  you  to  Madame  d'Espard ;  it  is  not  easy  to 
get  into  her  set ;  but  you  meet  all  the  greatest  people  at  her 
house,  cabinet  ministers  and  ambassadors,  and  great  orators 
from  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  peers  and  men  of  influ- 
ence, and  wealthy  or  famous  people.  A  young  man  with 
good  looks  and  more  than  sufficient  genius  could  fail  to  excite 
interest  only  by  very  bad  management. 

"  There  is  no  pettiness  about  those  who  are  truly  great  j 
they  will  lend  you  their  support ;  and  when  you  yourself  have 
a  high  position,  your  work  will  rise  immensely  in  public 
opinion.  The  great  problem  for  the  artist  is  the  problem  of 
putting  himself  in  evidence.  In  these  ways  there  will  be 
hundreds  of  chances  of  making  your  way,  of  sinecures,  of  a 
pension  from  the  civil  list.  The  Bourbons  are  so  fond  of  en- 
couraging letters  and  the  arts,  and  you,  therefore,  must  be  a 
religious  poet  and  a  royalist  poet  at  the  same  time.  Not 
only  is  it  the  right  course,  but  it  is  the  way  to  get  on  in  life. 
Do  the  Liberals  and  the  Opposition  give  places  and  rewards 
and  make  the  fortunes  of  men  of  letters?  Take  the  right 
road  and  reach  the  goal  of  genius.  You  have  my  secret,  do 
not  breathe  a  syllable  of  it,  and  prepare  to  follow  me.  Would 
you  rather  not  go?  "  she  added,  surprised  that  her  lover  made 
no  answer. 

To  Lucien,  listening  to  the  alluring  words  and  bewildered 
by  the  rapid  bird's-eye  view  of  Paris  which  they  brought  be- 
fore him,  it  seemed  as  if  hitherto  he  had  been  using  only  half 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  155 

his  brain  and  suddenly  had  found  the  other  half,  so  swiftly 
his  ideas  widened.  He  saw  himself  stagnating  in  Angoulgme 
like  a  frog  under  a  stone  in  a  marsh.  Paris  and  her  splendors 
arose  before  him ;  Paris,  the  Eldorado  of  provincial  imagin- 
ings, with  golden  robes  and  the  royal  diadem  about  her 
brows,  and  arms  outstretched  to  talent  of  every  kind.  Great 
men  would  greet  him  there  as  one  of  their  order.  Every- 
thing smiled  upon  genius.  There  there  were  no  jealous 
booby-squires  to  invent  stinging  gibes  and  humiliate  a  man 
of  letters  ;  there  was  no  stupid  indifference  to  poetry  in  Paris. 
Paris  was  the  fountain-head  of  poetry ;  there  the  poet  was 
brought  into  the  light  and  paid  for  his  work.  Publishers 
should  no  sooner  read  the  opening  pages  of  "An  Archer  of 
Charles  IX."  than  they  would  open  their  cash-boxes  with 
"  How  much  do  you  want?  "  And,  beside  all  this,  he  under- 
stood that  this  journey  with  Mme.  de  Bargeton  would  virtually 
give  her  to  him  ;  that  they  should  live  together. 

So  at  the  words,  "Would  you  rather  not  go?"  tears  came 
into  his  eyes,  he  flung  his  arms  about  Louise,  held  her  tightly 
to  his  heart,  and  marbled  her  throat  with  impassioned  kisses. 
Suddenly  he  checked  himself,  as  if  memory  had  dealt  him  a 
blow. 

" Great  heavens !"  he  cried,  "my  sister  is  to  be  married 
the  day  after  to-morrow  !  " 

That  exclamation  was  the  last  expiring  cry  of  noble  and 
single-hearted  boyhood.  The  so  powerful  ties  that  bind 
young  hearts  to  home,  and  a  first  friendship,  and  all  early 
affections  were  to  be  instantly  severed  at  one  ruthless  and 
cruel  blow. 

"Well,"  cried  the  haughty  Negrepelisse,  "and  what  has 
your  sister's  marriage  to  do  with  the  progress  of  our  love? 
Have  you  set  your  mind  so  much  on  being  best  man  at  a 
wedding-party  of  tradespeople  and  workingmen  that  you  can- 
not give  up  these  exalted  joys  for  my  sake  ?  A  great  sacrifice 
indeed!"  she  went  on,  scornfully.  "This  morning  I  sent 


156  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

my  husband  out  to  fight  in  your  quarrel.  There,  sir,  go  ;  I 
am  mistaken  in  you." 

She  sank  fainting  upon  the  sofa.  Lucien  went  to  her,  en- 
treating her  pardon,  calling  execrations  upon  his  family,  his 
sister,  and  David. 

"I  had  such  faith  in  you!"  she  said.  "Monsieur  de 
Cante-Croix  had  an  adored  mother  ;  but  to  win  a  letter  from 
me  and  the  words,  '  I  am  satisfied,'  he  fell  in  the  thick  of 
the  fight.  And  now,  when  I  ask  you  take  a  journey  with  me, 
you  cannot  even  think  of  giving  up  a  wedding-dinner  for 
my  sake. ' ' 

Lucien  was  ready  to  kill  himself;  his  desperation  was  so 
unfeigned  that  Louise  forgave  him,  though  at  the  same  time 
she  made  him  feel  that  he  must  redeem  his  mistake. 

"  Come,  come,"  she  said,  "be  discreet,  and  to-morrow  at 
midnight  be  upon  the  road,  a  hundred  paces  out  of  Mansle." 

Lucien  felt  the  globe  shrink  under  his  feet ;  he  went  back 
to  David's  house,  hopes  pursuing  him  as  the  Furies  followed 
Orestes,  for  he  had  glimmerings  of  endless  difficulties,  al^ 
summed  up  in  the  appalling  words,  "  Where  is  the  money  to 
come  from  ?  ' ' 

He  stood  in  such  terror  of  David's  perspicacity  that  he 
locked  himself  into  his  pretty  new  study  until  he  could  re- 
cover himself,  his  head  was  swimming  in  this  new  position. 
So  he  must  leave  the  rooms  just  furnished  for  him  at  such  a 
cost,  and  all  the  sacrifices  that  had  been  made  for  him  had 
been  made  in  vain.  Then  it  occurred  to  Lucien  that  his 
mother  might  take  the  rooms  and  save  David  the  heavy  ex- 
pense of  building  at  the  end  of  the  yard,  as  he  had  meant  to 
do ;  his  departure  would  be,  in  fact,  a  convenience  to  the 
family.  He  discovered  any  quantity  of  urgent  reasons  for  his 
sudden  flight  ;  for  there  is  no  such  Jesuit  as  the  desire  of  your 
heart.  He  hurried  down  at  once  to  tell  the  news  to  his  sister 
in  L'Houmeau  and  to  take  counsel  with  her.  As  he  reached 
Postel's  shop  he  bethought  himself  that,  if  all  other  means 


SHE   SANK    FAINTING    UPON    THE    SOFA. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  157 

failed,  he  could  borrow  enough  to  live  upon  for  a  year  from 
his  father's  successor. 

"Three  francs  per  day  will  be  abundance  for  me  if  I  live 
with  Louise,"  he  thought  ;  "  it  is  only  a  thousand  francs  for 
a  whole  year.  And  in  six  months'  time  I  shall  have  plenty 
of  money." 

Then,  under  seal  and  promise  of  secrecy,  Eve  and  her 
mother  heard  Lucien's  confidences.  Both  the  women  began 
to  cry  as  they  heard  of  the  ambitious  plans  ;  and  when  he 
asked  the  reason  of  their  trouble,  they  told  him  that  every 
penny  they  possessed  had  been  spent  on  table-linen,  house- 
linen,  Eve's  wedding  clothes,  and  on  a  host  of  things  that 
David  had  overlooked.  They  had  been  so  glad  to  do  this, 
for  David  had  made  a  marriage-settlement  of  ten  thousand 
francs  on  Eve.  Lucien  then  spoke  of  his  idea  of  a  loan,  and 
Mme.  Chardon  undertook  to  ask  M.  Postel  to  lend  them  a 
thousand  francs  for  a  twelvemonth. 

"But,  Lucien,"  said  Eve,  as  a  thought  clutched  at  her 
heart,  "  you  will  not  be  here  at  my  wedding !  Oh  !  come 
back,  I  will  put  it  off  for  a  few  days.  Surely  she  will  give 
you  leave  to  come  back  in  a  fortnight,  if  only  you  go  with 
her  now?  Surely  she  would  spare  you  to  us  for  a  week, 
Lucien,  when  we  brought  you  up  for  her  ?  We  shall  have  no 

luck  if  you  are  not  at  the  wedding But  will  a  thousand 

francs  be  enough  for  you?  "  she  added,  suddenly  interrupting 
herself.  "Your  coat  suits  you  divinely,  but  you  have  only 
that  one  !  You  have  only  two  fine  shirts,  the  other  six  are 
coarse  linen  ;  and  three  of  your  white  ties  are  just  common 
muslin,  there  are  only  two  lawn  cravats,  and  your  pocket- 
handkerchiefs  are  not  good  ones.  Where  will  you  find  a 
sister  in  Paris  who  will  get  up  your  linen  in  one  day  as  you 
want  it  ?  You  will  want  ever  so  much  more.  Then  you  have 
just  the  one  pair  of  new  nankeen  trousers,  last  year's  trousers 
are  tight  for  you ;  you  will  be  obliged  to  have  clothes  made  in 
Paris,  and  Paris  prices  are  not  like  Angouldme  prices.  You 


158  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

have  only  two  presentable  white  vests;  I  have  mended  the 
others  already.  Come,  I  advise  you  to  take  two  thousand 
francs." 

David  came  in  as  she  spoke,  and  apparently  heard  the  two 
last  words,  for  he  looked  at  the  brother  and  sister  and  said 
nothing. 

"  Do  not  keep  anything  from  me,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  Eve,  "  he  is  going  away  with  her." 

Mme.  Chardon  came  in  again,  and,  not  seeing  David, 
began  at  once — 

"  Postel  is  willing  to  lend  you  the  thousand  francs,  Lucien," 
she  said,  "but  only  for  six  months;  and  even  then  he  wants 
you  to  let  him  have  a  bill  indorsed  by  your  brother-in-law, 
for  he  says  that  you  are  giving  him  no  security/' 

She  turned  and  saw  David,  and  there  was  a  deep  silence  in 
the  room.  The  Chardons  thought '  how  they  had  abused 
David's  goodness,  and  felt  ashamed.  Tears  stood  in  the 
young  printer's  eyes. 

"Then  you  will  not  be  here  at  our  wedding  !  "  he  began. 
"You  are  not  going  to  live  with  us !  And  here  have  I  been 
squandering  all  that  I  had  !  Oh  !  Lucien,  as  I  came  along, 
bringing  Eve  her  little  bits  of  wedding  jewelry,  I  did  not 
think  that  I  should  be  sorry  I  spent  the  money  on  them." 
He  brushed  his  hand  over  his  eyes  as  he  drew  the  little  cases 
from  his  pocket. 

He  set  down  the  tiny  morocco-covered  boxes  on  the  table 
in  front  of  his  mother-in-law. 

" Oh  !  why  do  you  think  so  much  for  me? "  protested  Eve, 
giving  him  a  divinely  sweet  smile  that  belied  her  words. 

"Mamma,  dear,"  said  David,  "just  tell  Monsieur  Postel 
that  I  will  put  my  name  to  the  bill,  for  I  can  tell  from  your 
face,  Lucien,  that  you  have  quite  made  up  your  mind  to  go." 

Lucien's  head  sank  dejectedly ;  there  was  a  little  pause, 
then  he  said,  "  Do  not  think  hardly  of  me,  my  dear,  good 
angels." 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  159 

He  put  his  arms  about  Eve  and  David  and  drew  them 
close,  and  held  them  tightly  to  him  as  he  added,  "  Wait  and 
see  what  comes  of  it,  and  you  shall  know  how  much  I  love 
you.  What  is  the  good  of  our  high  thinking,  David,  if  it 
does  not  enable  us  to  disregard  the  petty  ceremonial  in  which 
the  law  entangles  our  affections?  Shall  I  not  be  with  you  in 
spirit,  in  spite  of  the  distance  between  us  ?  Shall  we  not  be 
united  in  thought?  Have  I  not  a  destiny  to  fulfill?  Will 
publishers  come  here  to  seek  my  '  Archer  of  Charles  IX.' 
and  the  'Marguerites?'  A  little  sooner  or  a  little  later  I 
should  be  obliged  in  any  case  to  do  as  I  am  doing  to-day, 
should  I  not?  And  shall  I  ever  find  a  better  opportunity 
than  this?  Does  not  my  success  entirely  depend  upon  my 
entrance  on  life  in  Paris  through  the  Marquise  d'Espard's 
salon?" 

"  He  is  right,"  said  Eve,  "you  yourself  were  saying,  were 
you  not,  that  he  ought  to  go  to  Paris  at  once?" 

David  took  Eve's  hand  in  his,  and  drew  her  into  the  narrow 
little  room  where  she  had  slept  for  seven  years. 

"  Love,  were  you  saying  just  now  that  he  would  want  two 
thousand  francs?"  he  said  in  her  ear.  "Postel  is  only  lend- 
ing one  thousand." 

Eve  gave  her  betrothed  a  look,  and  he  read  all  her  anguish 
in  her  eyes. 

"  Listen,  my  adored  Eve,  we  are  making  a  bad  start  in  life. 
Yes,  my  expenses  have  taken  all  my  capital ;  I  have  just  two 
thousand  francs  left,  and  half  of  it  will  be  wanted  to  carry  on 
the  business.  If  we  give  your  brother  the  thousand  francs,  it 
will  mean  that  we  are  giving  away  our  bread,  that  we  shall  live 
in  anxiety.  If  I  were  alone,  I  know  what  I  should  do ;  but 
we  are  two.  Decide  for  us." 

Eve,  distracted,  sprang  to  her  lover's  arms,  and  kissed  him 
tenderly,  as  she  answered  through  her  tears — 

"  Do  as  you  would  do  if  you  were  alone ;  I  will  work  to 
earn  the  monev." 


160  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

In  spite  of  the  most  impassioned  kiss  ever  given  and  taken 
by  betrothed  lovers,  David  left  Eve,  overcome  with  trouble, 
and  went  out  to  Lucien. 

"  Do  not  worry  yourself,"  he  said;  "you  shall  have  your 
two  thousand  francs." 

"  Go  in  to  see  Postel,"  said  Mme.  Chardon,  "for  you  must 
both  give  your  signatures  to  the  bill." 

When  Lucien  and  David  came  back  again  unexpectedly, 
they  found  Eve  and  her  mother  on  their  knees  in  prayer.  The 
women  felt  sure  that  Lucien's  return  would  bring  the  realiza- 
tion of  many  hopes  ;  but  at  that  moment  they  could  only  feel 
how  much  they  were  losing  in  the  parting,  and  the  happiness 
to  come  seemed  too  dearly  bought  by  an  absence  that  broke 
up  their  life  together,  and  would  fill  the  corning  days  with  in- 
numerable fears  for  Lucien. 

"  If  you  could  ever  forget  this  sight,"  David  said  in  Lucien's 
ear,  "  you  would  be  the  basest  of  men  !  " 

David,  no  doubt,  thought  that  these  grave  words  were 
needed  ;  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  influence  seemed  to  him  less  to 
to  be  feared  than  his  friend's  unlucky  instability  of  character, 
Lucien  was  so  easily  led  for  good  or  evil.  Eve  soon  packed 
Lucien's  clothes;  the  Fernando  Cortez  of  literature  carried 
but  little  baggage.  He  was  wearing  his  best  overcoat,  his 
best  vest,  and  one  of  the  two  fine  shirts.  The  whole  of  his 
linen,  the  celebrated  coat,  and  his  manuscript  made  up  so 
small  a  package  that,  to  hide  it  from  Mme.  de  Bargeton, 
David  proposed  to  send  it  by  coach  to  a  paper  merchant  with 
whom  he  had  dealings  and  wrote  and  advised  him  to  that 
effect,  and  asked  him  to  keep  the  parcel  until  Lucien  sent 
for  it. 

In  spite  of  Mme.  de  Bargeton's  precautions,  Ch&telet  found 
out  that  she  was  leaving  Angouleme;  and,  with  a  view  of  dis- 
covering whether  she  was  traveling  alone  or  with  Lucien,  he 
sent  his  man  to  Ruffec  with  instructions  to  watch  every  car- 
riage that  changed  horses  at  that  stage. 


LOS T  ILLUSIONS.  161 

"  If  she  is  taking  her  poet  with  her,"  thought  he,  "  I  have 
her  now." 

Lucien  set  out  before  daybreak  the  next  morning.  David 
went  with  him.  David  had  hired  a  cabriolet,  pretending  that 
he  was  going  to  Marsac  on  business,  a  little  piece  of  decep- 
tion which  seemed  probable  under  the  circumstances.  The 
two  friends  went  to  Marsac,  and  spent  part  of  the  day  with 
the  old  "bear."  As  evening  came  on  they  set  out  again, 
and  in  the  beginning  of  the  dawn  they  waited  in  the  road, 
on  the  further  side  of  Mansle,  for  Mme.  de  Bargeton.  When 
the  seventy-year-old  traveling  carriage,  which  he  had  many  a 
time  seen  in  the  coach-house,  appeared  in  sight  Lucien  felt 
more  deeply  moved  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life  before ; 
he  sprang  into  David's  arms. 

"  God  grant  that  this  may  be  for  your  good  !  "  said  David, 
and  he  climbed  into  the  shabby  cabriolet  and  drove  away  with 
a  feeling  of  dread  clutching  at  his  heart ;  he  had  terrible  pre- 
sentiments of  the  fate  awaiting  Lucien  in  Paris. 

11 


PART  II. 

EVE  AND   DAVID. 

Lucien  had  gone  to  Paris ;  and  David  S6chard,  with  the 
courage  and  intelligence  of  the  ox  which  painters  give  the 
Evangelist  for  accompanying  symbol,  set  himself  to  make 
the  large  fortune  for  which  he  had  wished  that  evening  down 
by  the  Charente,  when  he  sat  with  Eve  by  the  weir  and  she 
gave  him  her  hand  and  her  heart.  He  wanted  to  make  the 
money  quickly,  and  less  for  himself  than  for  Eve's  sake  and 
Lucien's.  He  would  place  his  wife  amid  the  elegant  and 
comfortable  surroundings  that  were  hers  by  right,  and  his 
strong  arm  should  sustain  her  brother's  ambitions — this  was 
the  programme  that  he  saw  before  his  eyes  in  letters  of  fire. 

Journalism  and  politics,  the  immense  development  of  the 
booktrade,  of  literature  and  of  the  sciences ;  the  increase  of 
public  interest  in  matters  touching  the  various  industries  in 
the  country ;  in  fact,  the  whole  social  tendency  of  the  epoch 
following  the  establishment  of  the  Restoration,  produced  an 
enormous  increase  in  the  demand  for  paper.  The  supply 
required  was  almost  ten  times  as  large  as  the  quantity  in 
which  the  celebrated  Ouvrard  speculated  at  the  outset  of  the 
Revolution.  Then  Ouvrard  could  buy  up  first  the  entire  stock 
of  paper  and  then  the  manufacturers  ;  but  in  the  year  1821 
there  were  so  many  paper-mills  in  France  that  no  one  could 
hope  to  repeat  his  success  ;  and  David  had  neither  audacity 
enough  nor  capital  enough  for  such  a  speculation.  Machinery 
for  producing  paper  in  any  length  was  just  coming  into  use  in 
England.  It  was  one  of  the  most  urgent  needs  of  the  time, 
therefore,  that  the  paper-trade  should  keep  pace  with  the  re- 
quirements of  the  French  system  of  civil  government,  a  system 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  163 

by  which  the  right  of  discussion  was  to  be  extended  to  every 
man,  and  the  whole  fabric  based  upon  continual  expression 
of  individual  opinion  ;  a  grave  misfortune,  for  the  nation  that 
deliberates  is  but  little  wont  to  act. 

So,  strange  coincidence  !  while  Lucien  was  drawn  into  the 
great  machinery  of  journalism,  where  he  was  like  to  leave  his 
honor  and  his  intelligence  torn  to  shreds,  David  Sechard,  at 
the  back  of  his  printing-house,  foresaw  all  the  practical  con- 
sequences of  the  increased  activity  of  the  periodical  press. 
He  saw  the  direction  in  which  the  spirit  of  the  age  was  tend- 
ing and  sought  to  find  means  to  the  required  end.  He  saw 
also  that  there  was  a  fortune  awaiting  the  discoverer  of  cheap 
paper,  and  the  event  has  justified  his  clear-sightedness.  Within 
the  last  fifteen  years,  the  Patent  Office  has  received  more  than 
a  hundred  applications  from  persons  claiming  to  have  dis- 
covered cheap  substances  to  be  employed  in  the  manufacture 
of  paper.  David  felt  more  than  ever  convinced  that  this 
would  be  no  brilliant  triumph,  it  is  true,  but  a  useful  and 
immensely  profitable  discovery ;  and,  after  his  brother-in-law 
went  to  Paris,  he  became  more  and  more  absorbed  in  the 
problem  which  he  had  set  himself  to  solve. 

The  expenses  of  his  marriage  and  of  Lucien's  journey  to 
Paris  had  exhausted  all  his  resources ;  he  confronted  the  ex- 
treme of  poverty  at  the  very  outset  of  married  life.  He  had 
kept  one  thousand  francs  for  the  working  expenses  of  the 
business,  and  owed  a  like  sum,  for  which  he  had  given  a  bill 
to  Postel  the  druggist.  So  here  was  a  double  problem  for 
this  deep  thinker ;  he  must  invent  a  method  of  making  cheap 
paper,  and  that  quickly ;  he  must  make  the  discovery,  in  fact, 
in  order  to  apply  the  proceeds  to  the  needs  of  the  household 
and  of  the  business.  What  words  can  describe  the  brain  that 
can  forget  the  cruel  preoccupation  caused  by  hidden  want,  by 
the  daily  needs  of  a  family  and  the  daily  drudgery  of  a 
printer's  business,  which  requires  such  minute,  painstaking 
care ;  and  soar,  with  the  enthusiasm  and  intoxication  of  the 


164  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

man  of  science,  into  the  regions  of  the  unknown  in  quest  of  a 
secret  which  daily  eludes  the  most  subtle  experiment  ?  And 
the  inventor,  alas!  as  will  shortly  be  seen,  has  plenty  of  woes 
to  endure,  beside  the  ingratitude  of  the  many ;  idle  folk  that 
can  do  nothing  themselves  tell  them,  "  Such  an  one  is  a  born 
inventor;  he  could  not  do  othenvise.  He  no  more  deserves 
credit  for  his  invention  than  a  prince  for  being  born  to  rule  ! 
He  is  simply  exercising  his  natural  faculties  and  his  work  is 
its  own  reward,"  and  the  people  believe  them. 

Marriage  brings  profound  mental  and  physical  perturba- 
tions into  a  girl's  life ;  and  if  she  marries  under  the  ordinary 
conditions  of  lower  middle-class  life,  she  must  moreover  begin 
to  study  totally  new  interests  and  initiate  herself  in  the  intri- 
cacies of  business.  With  marriage,  therefore,  she  enters  upon 
a  phase  of  her  existence  when  she  is  necessarily  on  the  watch 
before  she  can  act.  Unfortunately,  David's  love  for  his  wife 
retarded  this  training;  he  dared  not  tell  her  the  real  state  of 
affairs  on  the  day  after  their  wedding  nor  for  some  time  after- 
ward. His  father's  avarice  condemned  him  to  the  most 
grinding  poverty,  but  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  spoil  the 
honeymoon  by  beginning  his  wife's  commercial  education 
and  prosaic  apprenticeship  to  his  laborious  craft.  So  it  came 
to  pass  that  housekeeping,  no  less  than  working  expenses,  ate 
up  the  thousand  francs,  his  whole  fortune.  For  four  months 
David  gave  no  thought  to  the  future,  and  his  wife  remained 
in  ignorance.  The  awakening  was  terrible  !  Postel's  bill 
fell  due ;  there  was  no  money  to  meet  it,  and  Eve  knew 
enough  of  the  debt  and  its  cause  to  give  up  her  bridal  trinkets 
and  silver. 

That  evening  Eve  tried  to  induce  David  to  talk  of  their 
affairs,  for  she  had  noticed  that  he  was  giving  less  attention 
to  the  business  and  more  to  the  problem  of  which  he  had 
once  spoken  to  her.  Since  the  first  few  weeks  of  married  life, 
in  fact,  David  spent  most  of  his  time  in  the  shed  in  the  back 
yard,  in  the  little  room  where  he  was  wont  to  mould  his  ink- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS,  165 

rollers.  Three  months  after  his  return  to  Angoulgme,  he  had 
replaced  the  old-fashioned  round  ink-balls  by  rollers  made  of 
strong  glue  and  treacle,  and  an  ink-table,  on  which  the  ink 
was  evenly  distributed,  an  improvement  so  obvious  that 
Cointet  Brothers  no  sooner  saw  it  than  they  adopted  the  plan 
themselves. 

By  the  partition  wall  of  this  kitchen,  as  it  were,  David  had 
set  up  a  little  furnace  with  a  copper  pan,  ostensibly  to  save 
the  cost  of  fuel  over  the  recasting  of  his  rollers,  though  the 
moulds  had  not  been  used  twice,  and  hung  there  rusting  upon 
the  wall.  Nor  was  this  all  ;  a  solid  oak  door  had  been  put 
in  by  his  orders,  and  the  walls  were  lined  with  sheet-iron ;  he 
even  replaced  the  dirty  window-sash  by  panes  of  ribbed  glass, 
so  that  no  one  without  could  peer  through  and  watch  him  at 
his  work. 

When  Eve  began  to  speak  about  the  future,  he  looked  un- 
easily at  her  and  cut  her  short  at  the  first  word  by  saying,  "  I 
know  all  that  you  must  think,  child,  when  you  see  that  the 
workshop  is  left  to  itself,  and  that  I  am  dead,  as  it  were,  to 
all  business  interests;  but,  see,"  he  continued,  bringing  her 
to  the  window  and  pointing  to  the  mysterious  shed,  "there 
lies  our  fortune.  For  some  months  yet  we  must  endure  our 
lot,  but  let  us  bear  it  patiently;  leave  me  to  solve  the  prob- 
lem of  which  I  told  you  and  all  our  troubles  will  be  at  an 
end." 

David  was  so  good,  his  devotion  was  so  thoroughly  to  be 
taken  upon  his  word,  that  the  poor  wife,  with  a  wife's  anxiety 
as  to  daily  expenses,  determined  to  spare  her  husband  the 
household  cares  and  to  take  the  burden  upon  herself.  So  she 
came  down  from  the  pretty  blue-and-white  room,  where  she 
sewed  and  talked  contentedly  with  her  mother,  took  posses- 
sion of  one  of  the  two  dens  at  the  back  of  the  printing-room, 
and  set  herself  to  learn  the  business  routine  of  typography. 
Was  it  not  heroism  in  a  wife  who  expected  ere  long  to  be  a 
mother? 


166  LOST  ILLUSION'S. 

During  the  past  few  months  David's  workmen  had  left  him 
one  by  one ;  there  was  not  work  enough  for  them  to  do. 
Cointet  Brothers,  on  the  other  hand,  were  overwhelmed  with 
orders ;  they  were  employing  all  the  workmen  of  the  depart- 
ment ;  the  alluring  prospect  of  high  wages  even  brought  them 
a  few  from  Bordeaux,  more  especially  apprentices  who  thought 
themselves  sufficiently  expert  to  cancel  their  articles  and  go 
elsewhere.  When  Eve  came  to  look  into  the  affairs  of 
S£chard's  printing  works  she  discovered  that  he  employed 
three  persons  in  all. 

First  in  order  stood  Cerizet,  an  apprentice  of  Didot's, 
whom  David  had  chosen  to  train.  Most  foremen  have  some 
one  favorite  among  the  great  number  of  workers  under  them, 
and  David  had  brought  Cerizet  to  Angouldme,  where  he  had 
been  learning  more  of  the  business.  Marion,  as  much  attached 
to  the  house  as  a  watch-dog,  was  the  second  ;  and  the  third  was 
Kolb,  an  Alsacien,  at  one  time  a  porter  in  the  employ  of  the 
Messrs.  Didot.  Kolb  had  been  drawn  for  military  service, 
chance  brought  him  to  Angoul&me,  and  David  recognized  the 
man's  face  at  a  review  just  as  his  time  was  about  to  expire. 
Kolb  came  to  see  David,  and  was  smitten  forthwith  by  the 
charms  of  the  portly  Marion  ;  she  possessed  all  the  qualities 
which  a  man  of  his  class  looks  for  in  a  wife — the  robust 
health  that  bronzes  the  cheeks,  the  strength  of  a  man  (Marion 
could  lift  a  form  of  type  with  ease),  the  scrupulous  honesty 
on  which  an  Alsacien  sets  such  store,  the  faithful  service 
which  bespeaks  a  sterling  character,  and,  finally,  the  thrift 
which  had  saved  a  little  sum  of  a  thousand  francs,  beside  a 
stock  of  clothing  and  linen,  neat  and  clean,  as  country  linen 
can  be.  Marion  herself,  a  big,  stout  woman  of  thirty-six,  felt 
sufficiently  flattered  by  the  admiration  of  a  cuirassier,  who 
stood  five  feet  seven  inches  in  his  stockings,  a  well-built  warrior, 
strong  as  a  bastion,  and  not  unnaturally  suggested  that  he 
should  become  a  printer.  So,  by  the  time  Kolb  received  his 
full  discharge,  Marion  and  David  between  them  had  trans- 


LOST  ILL USIONS.  167 

formed  him  into  a  tolerably  creditable  "bear,"  though  their 
pupil  could  neither  read  nor  write. 

Job-printing,  as  it  is  called,  was  not  so  abundant  at  this 
season  but  that  Cerizet  could  manage  it  without  help.  Ceri- 
zet — compositor,  clicker,  and  foreman — realized  in  his  person 
the  "phenomenal  triplicity  "  of  Kant;  he  set  up  type,  read 
proof,  took  orders,  and  made  out  invoices;  but  the  most  part 
of  the  time  he  had  nothing  to  do,  and  used  to  read  novels  in 
his  den  at  the  back  of  the  workshop  while  he  waited  for  an 
order  for  a  bill-head  or  a  trade  circular.  Marion,  trained  by 
old  Sechard,  prepared  and  wetted  down  the  paper,  helped 
Kolb  with  the  printing,  hung  the  sheets  to  dry,  and  cut  them 
to  size ;  yet  cooked  the  dinner  none  the  less,  and  did  her 
marketing  very  early  of  a  morning. 

Eve  told  Cerizet  to  draw  out  a  balance-sheet  for  the  last 
six  months,  and  found  that  the  gross  receipts  amounted  to 
eight  hundred  francs.  On  the  other  hand,  wages  at  the  rate 
of  three  francs  per  day — two  francs  to  Cdrizet  and  one  to 
Kolb — reached  a  total  of  six  hundred  francs ;  and  as  the 
goods  supplied  for  the  work  printed  and  delivered  amounted 
to  some  hundred-odd  francs,  it  was  clear  to  Eve  that  David 
had  been  carrying  on  business  at  a  loss  during  the  first  half- 
year  of  their  married  life.  There  was  nothing  to  show  for 
rent,  nothing  for  Marion's  wages,  nor  for  interest  on  capital 
represented  by  the  plant,  the  license,  and  the  ink ;  nothing, 
finally,  by  way  of  allowance  for  the  host  of  things  included  in 
the  technical  expression  "wear  and  tear,"  a  term  which 
owes  its  origin  to  the  cloths  and  silks  which  are  used  to  mod- 
erate the  force  of  the  impression  and  to  save  wear  to  the 
type  ;  a  square  of  stuff  (the  blanket}  being  placed  between 
the  platen  and  the  sheet  of  paper  in  the  press. 

Eve  made  a  rough  calculation  of  the  resources  of  the  print- 
ing-office and  of  the  output,  and  saw  how  little  hope  there 
was  for  a  business  drained  dry  by  the  all-devouring  activity  of 
the  brothers  Cointet ;  for  by  this  time  the  Cointets  were  not 


168  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

only  contract  printers  to  the  town  and  the  prefecture,  and 
printers  to  the  diocese  by  special  appointment — they  were 
paper-makers  and  proprietors  of  a  newspaper  to  boot.  That 
newspaper,  sold  two  years  ago  by  the  Sechards,  father  and 
son,  for  twenty-two  thousand  francs,  was  now  bringing  in 
eighteen  thousand  francs  per  annum.  Eve  began  to  under- 
stand the  motives  lurking  beneath  the  apparent  generosity  of 
the  brothers  Cointet ;  they  were  leaving  the  Sechard  estab- 
lishment just  sufficient  work  to  gain  a  pittance,  but  not 
enough  to  establish  a  rival  house. 

When  Eve  took  the  management  of  the  business  she  began 
by  taking  stock.  She  set  Kolb  and  Marion  and  Cerizet  to 
work,  and  the  workshop  was  put  to  rights,  cleaned  out,  and 
set  in  order.  Then  one  evening  when  David  came  in  from  a 
country  excursion,  followed  by  an  old  woman  with  a  huge 
bundle  tied  up  in  a  cloth,  Eve  asked  counsel  of  him  as  to  the 
best  way  of  turning  to  profit  the  odds  and  ends  left  them  by  old 
Sechard,  promising  that  she  herself  would  look  after  the  busi- 
ness. Acting  upon  her  husband's  advice,  Mme.  Sechard  sorted 
all  the  remnants  of  paper  which  she  found,  and  printed  old  pop- 
ular legends  in  double  columns  upon  a  single  sheet,  such  as 
peasants  paste  upon  their  cottage  walls,  the  histories  of  "The 
Wandering  Jew,"  "Robert  the  Devil,"  "La  Belle  Mague- 
lonne,"  and  sundry  miracles.  Eve  sent  Kolb  out  as  a  hawker. 

Celizet  had  not  a  moment  to  spare  now;  he  was  composing 
the  naive  pages  with  the  rough  cuts  that  adorned  them  from 
morning  to  night ;  Marion  was  able  to  manage  the  taking  off; 
and  all  domestic  cares  fell  to  Mme.  Chardon,  for  Eve  was 
busy  coloring  the  prints.  Thanks  to  Kolb's  activity  and  hon- 
esty, Eve  sold  three  thousand  broad  sheets  at  a  sou  a  piece, 
and  made  three  hundred  francs  in  all  at  a  cost  of  thirty  francs. 

But  when  every  peasant's  hut  and  every  little  wineshop  for 
twenty  leagues  around  was  papered  with  these  legends,  a  fresh 
speculation  must  be  discovered ;  the  Alsacien  could  not  go 
beyond  the  limits  of  the  department.  Eve,  turning  over 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  169 

everything  in  the  whole  printing-house,  had  found  a  collec- 
tion of  figures  for  printing  a  "Shepherd's  Calendar,"  a  kind 
of  almanac  meant  for  those  who  cannot  read,  letter-press 
being  replaced  by  symbols,  signs,  and  pictures  in  colored 
inks — red,  black,  and  blue.  Old  Sechard,  who  could  neither 
read  nor  write  himself,  had  made  a  good  deal  of  money  at 
one  time  by  bringing  out  an  almanac  in  hieroglyph.  It  was 
in  book  form,  a  single  sheet  folded  to  make  one  hundred  and 
twenty-eight  pages. 

Thoroughly  satisfied  with  the  success  of  the  broad  sheets, 
a  piece  of  business  only  undertaken  by  country  printing-offices, 
Mme.  Sechard  invested  all  the  proceeds  in  the  "Shepherd's 
Calendar,"  and  began  it  upon  a  large  scale.  Millions  of 
copies  of  this  work  are  sold  annually  in  France.  It  is  printed 
upon  even  coarser  paper  than  the  "Almanac  of  Liege,"  a 
ream  (five  hundred  sheets)  costing  in  the  first  instance  about 
four  francs ;  while  the  printed  sheets  sell  at  the  rate  of  a  sou 
a  piece — twenty-five  francs  per  ream. 

Mme.  Sechard  determined  to  use  one  hundred  reams  for 
the  first  impression  ;  fifty  thousand  copies  would  bring  in 
two  thousand  francs.  A  man  so  deeply  absorbed  in  his  work 
as  David  in  his  researches  is  seldom  observant ;  yet  David, 
taking  a  look  around  his  workshop,  was  astonished  to  hear 
the  groaning  of  a  press  and  to  see  Cerizet  always  on  his  feet, 
setting  up  type  under  Mme.  Sdchard's  direction.  There  was 
a  pretty  triumph  for  Eve  on  the  day  when  David  came  in  to 
see  what  she  was  doing,  and  praised  the  idea,  and  thought  the 
calendar  an  excellent  stroke  of  business.  Furthermore,  David 
promised  to  give  advice  in  the  matter  of  colored  inks,  for  an 
almanac  meant  to  appeal  to  the  eye ;  and,  finally,  he  resolved 
to  recast  the  ink-rollers  himself  in  his  mysterious  workshop, 
so  as  to  help  his  wife  as  far  as  he  could  in  her  important  little 
enterprise. 

But  just  as  the  work  began  with  strenuous  industry  there 
came  letters  from  Lucien  in  Paris,  heart-sinking  letters  that 


170  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

told  his  mother  and  sister  and  brother-in-law  of  his  failure 
and  distress;  and  when  Eve,  Mme.  Chardon,  and  David 
each  secretly  sent  money  to  their  poet,  it  must  be  plain  to  the 
reader  that  the  three  hundred  francs  they  sent  were  like  their 
very  blood.  The  overwhelming  news,  the  disheartening  sense 
that  work  as  bravely  as  she  might  she  made  so  little,  left  Eve 
looking  forward  with  a  certain  dread  to  an  event  which  fills 
the  cup  of  happiness  to  the  full.  The  time  was  coming  very 
near  now,  and  to  herself  she  said,  "  If  my  dear  David  has 
not  reached  the  end  of  his  researches  before  my  confinement, 
what  will  become  of  us  ?  And  who  will  look  after  our  poor 
printing-office  and  the  business  that  is  growing  up?  " 

The  "  Shepherd's  Calendar  "  ought  by  rights  to  have  been 
ready  before  the  ist  of  January,  but  Cerizet  was  working  un- 
accountably slow;  all  the  work  of  composing  fell  to  him; 
and  Mme.  Sechard,  knowing  so  little,  could  not  find  fault, 
and  was  fain  to  content  herself  with  watching  the  young 
Parisian. 

Cerizet  came  from  the  great  foundling  hospital  in  Paris. 
He  had  been  apprenticed  to  the  MM.  Didot,  and  between  the 
ages  of  fourteen  and  seventeen  he  was  David  Sechard's  fanat- 
ical worshiper.  David  put  him  under  one  of  the  cleverest 
workmen  and  took  him  for  his  copyholder,  his  page.  Ceri- 
zet's  intelligence  naturally  interested  David  ;  he  won  the  lad's 
affection  by  procuring  amusements  now  and  again  for  him, 
and  comforts  from  which  he  was  cut  off  by  poverty.  Nature 
had  endowed  Cerizet  with  an  insignificant,  rather  pretty  little 
countenance,  red  hair,  and  a  pair  of  dull  blue  eyes  ;  he  had 
come  to  Angouleme  and  brought  the  manners  of  the  Parisian 
street-boy  with  him.  He  was  formidable  by  reason  of  a 
quick  sarcastic  turn  and  a  spiteful  disposition.  Perhaps  David 
looked  less  strictly  after  him  in  Angouleme ;  or,  perhaps,  as 
the  lad  grew  older,  his  mentor  put  more  trust  in  him  or  in 
the  sobering  influences  of  a  country  town ;  but  be  that  as  it  may, 
Cerizet  (all  unknown  to  his  sponsor)  was  going  completely  to 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  171 

the  bad,  and  the  printer's  apprentice  was  acting  the  part  of  a 
Don  Juan  among  little  workgirls.  His  morality,  learned  in 
Paris  drinking-saloons,  laid  down  the  law  of  self-interest  as 
the  sole  rule  for  guidance ;  he  knew,  moreover,  that  next  year 
he  would  be  "drawn  for  a  soldier,"  to  use  the  popular  ex- 
pression, saw  that  he  had  no  prospects,  and  ran  into  debt, 
thinking  that  soon  he  should  be  in  the  army,  and  none  of  his 
creditors  would  run  after  him.  David  still  possessed  some 
ascendency  over  the  young  fellow,  due  not  to  his  position  as 
master,  nor  yet  to  the  interest  that  he  had  taken  in  his  pupil, 
but  to  the  great  intellectual  power  which  the  sometime  street- 
boy  fully  recognized. 

Before  long  Cerizet  began  to  fraternize  with  the  Cointets' 
workpeople,  drawn  to  them  by  the  mutual  attraction  of  blouse 
and  jacket,  and  the  class  feeling,  which  is,  perhaps,  strongest 
of  all  in  the  lowest  ranks  of  society.  In  their  company 
Cerizet  forgot  the  little  good  doctrine  which  David  had  man- 
aged to  instil  into  him ;  but,  nevertheless,  when  the  others 
joked  the  boy  about  the  presses  in  his  workshop  ("  old  sabots," 
as  the  "  bears  "  contemptuously  called  them),  and  showed  him 
the  magnificent  machines,  twelve  in  number,  now  at  work  in 
the  Cointets  great  printing-office,  where  the  single  wooden 
press  was  only  used  for  experiments,  Cerizet  would  stand  up 
for  David  and  fling  out  at  the  braggarts. 

"  My  boss  will  go  farther  with  his  '  sabots  '  than  yours  with 
their  cast-iron  contrivances  that  turn  out  mass  books  all  day 
long,"  he  would  boast.  "  He  is  trying  to  find  out  a  secret 
that  will  lick  all  the  printing-offices  in  France  and  Navarre." 

"  And  meantime  you  take  your  orders  from  a  washerwoman, 
you  snip  of  a  foreman  on  two  francs  a  day." 

"  She  is  pretty  though,"  retorted  Cerizet ;  "  it  is  better  to 
have  her  to  look  at  than  the  phizzes  of  your  bosses." 

"  And  do  you  live  by  looking  at  his  wife  ?  " 

From  the  region  of  the  wineshop,  or  from  the  door  of  the 
printing-office,  where  these  bickerings  took  place,  a  dim  light 


172  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

began  to  break  in  upon  the  brothers  Cointet  as  to  the  real 
state  of  things  in  the  Sechard  establishment.  They  came  to 
hear  of  Eve's  experiment,  and  held  it  expedient  to  stop  these 
flights  at  once,  lest  the  business  should  begin  to  prosper  under 
the  poor  young  wife's  management. 

"  Let  us  give  her  a  rap  over  the  knuckles  and  disgust  her 
with  the  business,"  said  the  brothers  Cointet. 

One  of  the  pair,  the  practical  printer,  spoke  to  Cerizet, 
and  asked  him  to  do  proof-reading  for  them  by  piecework,  to 
relieve  their  reader,  who  had  more  than  he  could  manage. 
So  it  came  to  pass  that  Cerizet  earned  more  by  a  few  hours' 
work  of  an  evening  for  the  brothers  Cointet  than  by  a  whole 
day's  work  for  David  Sechard.  Other  transactions  followed  ; 
the  Cointets  seeing  no  small  aptitude  in  Cerizet,  he  was  told 
that  it  was  a  pity  that  he  should  be  in  a  position  so  little 
favorable  to  his  interests. 

"You  might  be  foreman  some  day  in  a  big  printing-office, 
making  six  francs  a  day,"  said  one  of  the  Cointets  one  day, 
"  and  with  your  intelligence  you  might  come  to  have  a  share 
in  the  business." 

"  Where  is  the  use  of  my  being  a  good  foreman  ?  "  returned 
Cerizet.  "  I  am  an  orphan,  I  shall  be  drawn  for  the  army 
next  year,  and  if  I  get  a  bad  number  who  is  there  to  pay 
some  one  else  to  take  my  place  ?  " 

"If  you  make  yourself  useful,"  said  the  well-to-do  printer, 
"why  should  not  somebody  advance  the  money?" 

"  It  won't  be  my  boss  in  any  case  !  "  said  Cdrizet. 

"Pooh  !  Perhaps  by  that  time  he  will  have  found  out  the 
secret." 

The  words  were  spoken  in  a  way  that  could  not  but  rouse 
the  worst  thoughts  in  the  listener;  and  Cerizet  gave  the 
papermaker  and  printer  a  very  searching  look. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  he  is  busy  about,"  he  began  pru- 
dently, as  the  master  said  nothing,  "  but  he  is  not  the 
kind  of  man  to  look  for  capitals  in  the  lower  case  !  " 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  173 

"  Look  here,  my  friend,"  said  the  printer,  taking  up  half-a- 
dozen  sheets  of  the  diocesan  prayer-book  and  holding  them 
out  to  Cerizet,  "  if  you  can  correct  these  for  us  by  to-morrow 
you  shall  have  eighteen  francs  to-morrow  for  them.  We  are 
not  shabby  here  ;  we  put  our  competitor's  foreman  in  the  way 
of  making  money.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  might  let  Mme. 
Sechard  go  too  far  to  draw  back  with  her  '  Shepherd's  Calen- 
dar,' and  ruin  her;  very  well,  we  give  you  permission  to  tell 
her  that  we  are  bringing  out  a  '  Shepherd's  Calendar '  of  our 
own,  and  to  call  her  attention,  too,  to  the  fact  that  she  will 
not  be  the  first  in  the  field." 

Cerizet's  motive  for  working  so  slowly  on  the  composition 
of  the  almanac  should  be  clear  enough  by  this  time. 

When  Eve  heard  that  the  Cointets  meant  to  spoil  her  poor 
little  speculation,  dread  seized  upon  her ;  at  first  she  tried  to 
see  a  proof  of  attachment  in  Cerizet's  hypocritical  warning  of 
competition ;  but  before  long  she  saw  signs  of  an  overkeen 
curiosity  in  her  sole  compositor — the  curiosity  of  youth,  she 
tried  to  think. 

"  Cerizet,"  she  said  one  morning,  "  you  stand  about  on  the 
threshold  and  wait  for  Monsieur  Sechard  in  the  passage,  to 
pry  into  his  private  affairs ;  when  he  comes  out  into  the  yard 
to  melt  down  the  rollers  you  are  there  looking  at  him,  instead 
of  getting  on  with  the  almanac.  These  things  are  not  right, 
especially  when  you  see  that  I,  his  wife,  respect  his  secrets, 
and  take  so  much  trouble  on  myself  to  leave  him  free  to  give 
himself  up  to  his  work.  If  you  had  not  wasted  time  the 
almanac  would  be  finished  by  now,  and  Kolb  would  be  selling 
it  and  the  Cointets  could  have  done  us  no  harm." 

"Eh!  madame,"  answered  Cdrizet.  "Here  I  am  doing 
five  francs'  worth  of  composing  for  two  francs  a  day,  and 
don't  you  think  that  is  enough?  Why,  if  I  did  not  read 
proofs  of  an  evening  for  the  Cointets,  I  might  feed  myself  on 
husks." 

"You  are  turning  ungrateful  early,"  said  Eve,  deeply  hurt, 


174  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

not  so  much  by  Cerizet's  grumbling  as  by  his  coarse  tone, 
threatening  attitude,  and  aggressive  stare;  "you  will  get  on 
in  life." 

"  Not  with  a  woman  to  order  me  about  though,  for  it  is  not 
often  that  the  month  has  thirty  days  in  it  then." 

Feeling  wounded  in  her  womanly  dignity,  Eve  gave  Cerizet 
a  withering  look  and  went  upstairs  again.  At  dinner-time  she 
spoke  to  David. 

"Are  you  sure,  dear,  of  that  little  rogue  Cerizet?" 

"Cerizet!"  said  David.  "Why,  he  was  my  youngster; 
I  trained  him,  I  took  him  on  as  my  copyholder.  I  put  him 
to  composing ;  anything  that  he  is  he  owes  to  me  in  fact ! 
You  might  as  well  ask  a  father  if  he  is  sure  of  his  child." 

Upon  this,  Eve  told  her  husband  that  Cerizet  was  reading 
proofs  for  the  Cointets. 

"Poor  fellow!  he  must  live,"  said  David,  humbled  by  the 
consciousness  that  he  had  not  done  his  duty  as  a  master. 

"Yes,  but  there  is  this  difference,  dear,  between  Kolb  and 
Cirizet — Kolb  tramps  about  twenty  leagues  every  day,  spends 
fifteen  or  twenty  sous,  and  brings  us  back  seven  and  eight  and 
sometimes  nine  francs  of  sales;  and  when  his  expenses  are 
paid  he  never  asks  for  more  than  his  wages.  Kolb  would 
sooner  cut  off  his  hand  than  work  a  lever  for  the  Cointets ; 
Kolb  would  not  peer  among  the  things  that  you  throw  out 
into  the  yard  if  people  offered  him  a  thousand  crowns  to  do 
it;  but  Cerizet  picks  them  up  and  looks  at  them." 

It  is  hard  for  noble  natures  to  think  evil,  to  believe  in  in- 
gratitude ;  only  through  rough  experience  do  they  learn  the 
extent  of  human  corruption  ;  and,  even  when  there  is  nothing 
left  them  to  learn  in  this  kind,  they  rise  to  an  indulgence 
which  is  the  last  degree  of  contempt. 

"Pooh!  pure  Paris  street-boy's  curiosity,"  cried  David 
S6chard. 

"  Very  well,  dear,  do  me  the  pleasure  to  step  downstairs 
and  look  at  the  work  done  by  this  boy  of  yours,  and  tell  me 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  175 

then  whether  he  ought  not  to  have  finished  our  almanac  this 
month." 

David  went  into  the  workshop  after  dinner,  and  saw  that 
the  calendar  should  have  been  set  up  in  a  week.  Then,  when 
he  heard  that  the  Cointets  were  bringing  out  a  similar  almanac, 
he  came  to  the  rescue.  He  took  command  of  the  printing- 
office,  Kolb  helped  at  home  instead  of  selling  broadsheets. 
Kolb  and  Marion  pulled  off  the  impressions  from  one  form, 
while  David  worked  another  press  with  Cerizet,  and  superin- 
tended the  printing  in  various  inks.  Every  sheet  must  be 
printed  four  separate  times,  for  which  reason  none  but  small 
houses  will  attempt  to  produce  a  "  Shepherd's  Calendar,"  and 
that  only  in  the  country  where  labor  is  cheap  and  the  amount 
of  capital  employed  in  the  business  is  so  small  that  the  interest 
amounts  to  little.  Wherefore,  a  press  which  turns  out  beautiful 
work  cannot  compete  in  the  printing  of  sheets,  coarse  though 
they  may  be. 

So,  for  the  first  time  since  old  S£chard  retired,  two  presses 
were  at  work  in  the  old  house.  The  calendar  was,  in  its  way, 
a  masterpiece ;  but  Eve  was  obliged  to  sell  it  for  less  than  a 
sou,  for  the  Cointets  were  supplying  hawkers  at  the  rate  of 
three  centimes*  per  copy.  Eve  made  no  loss  on  the  copies 
sold  to  hawkers ;  on  Kolb's  sales,  made  directly,  she  gained  ; 
but  her  little  speculation  was  spoiled.  Cerizet  saw  that  his 
fair  employer  distrusted  him  ;  in  his  own  conscience  he  posed 
as  the  accuser,  and  said  to  himself,  "You  suspect  me,  do  you? 
I  will  have  my  revenge,"  for  the  Paris  street-boy  is  made  on 
this  wise.  Cerizet  accordingly  took  pay  out  of  all  proportion 
to  the  work  of  proof-reading  done  for  the  Cointets,  going  to 
their  office  every  evening  for  the  sheets  and  returning  them 
in  the  morning.  He  came  to  be  on  familiar  terms  with  them 
through  the  daily  chat,  and  at  length  saw  a  chance  of  escaping 
the  military  service,  a  bait  held  out  to  him  by  the  brothers. 
So  far  from  requiring  promptings  from  the  Cointets,  he  was 

*  Five  centimes  make  one  sou. 


176  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

the  first  to  propose  the  espionage  and  exploitation  of  David's 
researches. 

Eve  saw  how  little  she  could  depend  upon  Cerizet,  and  to 
find  another  Kolb  was  simply  impossible ;  she  made  up  her 
mind  to  dismiss  her  one  compositor,  for  the  insight  of  a  woman 
who  loves  told  her  that  Cerizet  was  a  traitor ;  but,  as  this 
meant  a  death-blow  to  the  business,  she  took  a  man's  resolution. 
She  wrote  to  M.  Metivier,  with  whom  David  and  the  Cointets 
and  almost  every  papermaker  in  the  department  had  business 
relations,  and  asked  him  to  put  the  following  advertisement 
into  a  trade-paper : 

"  FOR  SALE,  as  a  going  concern,  a  Printing-office,  with 
License  and  Plant ;  situated  at  Angouldme.  Apply  for  par- 
ticulars to  M.  Metivier,  Rue  Serpente." 

The  Cointets  saw  the  advertisement.  "  That  little  woman 
has  a  head  on  her  shoulders,"  they  said.  "It  is  time  that  we 
took  her  business  under  our  own  control,  by  giving  her  enough 
work  to  live  upon ;  we  might  find  a  real  competitor  in  David's 
successor ;  it  is  to  our  interest  to  keep  an  eye  upon  that  work- 
shop." 

The  Cointets  went  to  speak  to  David  SSchard;  moved 
thereto  by  this  thought.  Eve  saw  them,  knew  that  her  strata- 
gem had  succeeded  at  once,  and  felt  a  thrill  of  the  keenest  joy. 
They  stated  their  proposal.  They  had  more  work  than  they 
could  undertake,  their  presses  could  not  keep  pace  with  the 
work,  would  M.  Sechard  print  for  them?  They  had  sent  to 
Bordeaux  for  workmen,  and  could  find  enough  to  give  full 
employment  to  David's  three  presses. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Eve,  while  Cerizet  went  across  to 
David's  workshop  to  announce  the  two  printers,  "  while  my 
husband  was  with  the  Messieurs  Didot  he  came  to  know  of 
excellent  workers,  honest  and  industrious  men  ;  he  will  choose 
his  successor,  no  doubt,  from  among  the  best  of  them.  If  he 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  177 

sold  his  business  outright  for  some  twenty  thousand  francs,  it 
would  bring  us  in  a  thousand  francs  per  annum ;  that  would 
be  better  than  losing  a  thousand  yearly  over  such  trade  as  you 
leave  us.  Why  did  you  envy  us  the  poor  little  almanac  specu- 
lation, especially  as  we  have  always  brought  it  out? " 

"Oh,  why  did  you  not  give  us  notice,  madame?  We 
would  not  have  interfered  with  you,"  one  of  the  brothers 
answered  blandly  (he  was  known  as  "  the  tall  Cointet"). 

"  Oh,  come,  gentlemen  !  you  only  began  your  almanac  after 
Cerizet  told  you  that  I  was  bringing  out  mine." 

She  spoke  briskly,  looking  full  at  "  the  tall  Cointet "  as  she 
spoke.  He  lowered  his  eyes ;  Cerizet's  treachery  was  proven 
to  her. 

This  brother  managed  the  business  and  the  paper-mill ;  he 
was  by  far  the  cleverer  man  of  business  of  the  two.  Jean 
showed  no  small  ability  in  the  conduct  of  the  printing  estab- 
lishment, but  in  intellectual  capacity  he  might  be  said  to  take 
colonel's  rank,  while  Boniface  was  a  general.  Jean  left  the 
command  to  Boniface.  This  latter  was  thin  and  spare  in 
person  ;  his  face,  sallow  as  an  altar  candle,  was  mottled  with 
reddish  patches ;  his  lips  were  pinched ;  there  was  something 
in  his  eyes  that  reminded  you  of  a  cat's  eyes.  Boniface 
Cointet  never  excited  himself;  he  would  listen  to  the  grossest 
insults  with  the  serenity  of  a  bigot,  and  reply  in  a  smooth 
voice.  He  went  to  mass,  he  went  to  confession,  he  took  the 
sacrament.  Beneath  his  caressing  manners,  beneath  an  almost 
spiritless  look,  lurked  the  tenacity  and  ambition  of  the  priest, 
and  the  greed  of  the  man  of  business  consumed  with  a  thirst 
for  riches  and  honors.  In  the  year  1820  "tall  Cointet" 
wanted  all  that  the  bourgeoisie  finally  obtained  by  the  Revolu- 
tion of  1830.  In  his  heart  he  hated  the  aristocrats,  and  in 
religion  he  was  indifferent ;  he  was  as  much  or  as  little  of  a 
bigot  as  Bonaparte  was  a  member  of  the  Mountain  ;*  yet  his 
vertebral  column  bent  with  a  flexibility  wonderful  to  behold 

*  The  extreme  democratic  party  of  the  Convention. 
12 


178  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

before  the  noblesse  and  the  official  hierarchy ;  for  the  powers 
that  be,  he  humbled  himself,  he  was  meek  and  obsequious.  One 
final  characteristic  will  describe  him  for  those  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  dealings  with  all  kinds  of  men,  and  can  appreciate 
its  value — Cointet  concealed  the  expression  of  his  eyes  by 
wearing  colored  glasses,  ostensibly  to  preserve  his  sight  from 
the  reflection  of  the  sunlight  on  the  white  buildings  in  the 
streets;  for  AngoulSme,  being  set  upon  a  hill,  is  exposed  to 
the  full  glare  of  the  sun.  Tall  Cointet  was  really  scarcely 
above  middle  height ;  he  looked  much  taller  than  he  actually 
was  by  reason  of  the  thinness,  which  told  of  overwork  and  a 
brain  in  continual  ferment.  His  lank,  sleek  gray  hair,  cut  in 
somewhat  ecclesiastical  fashion;  the  black  trousers,  black 
stockings,  black  vest,  and  long  puce-colored  greatcoat  (styled 
a  levite  in  the  South),  all  completed  his  resemblance  to  a 
Jesuit. 

Boniface  was  called  "  tall  Cointet  "  to  distinguish  him  from 
his  brother  "fat  Cointet,"  and  the  nicknames  expressed  a 
difference  in  character  as  well  as  a  physical  difference  between 
a  pair  of  equally  redoubtable  personages.  As  for  Jean  Cointet, 
a  jolly  stout  fellow,  with  a  face  from  a  Flemish  interior, 
colored  by  the  southern  sun  of  Angouleme,  thick-set,  short 
and  paunchy  as  Sancho  Panza;  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  and  a 
pair  of  sturdy  shoulders,  he  was  a  striking  contrast  to  his 
older  brother.  Nor  was  the  difference  only  physical  and 
intellectual.  Jean  might  almost  be  called  Liberal  in  politics ; 
he  belonged  to  the  Left-Centre,  only  went  to  mass  on  Sun- 
days, and  lived  on  a  remarkably  good  understanding  with  the 
Liberal  men  of  business.  There  were  those  in  L'Houmeau  who 
said  that  this  divergence  between  the  brothers  was  more  appar- 
ent than  real.  Tall  Cointet  turned  his  brother's  seeming  good- 
nature to  advantage  very  skillfully.  Jean  was  his  bludgeon. 
It  was  Jean  who  gave  all  the  hard  words ;  it  was  Jean  who 
conducted  the  executions  which  little  beseemed  the  elder 
brother's  benevolence.  Jean  took  the  storms  department; 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  179 

he  would  fly  into  a  rage,  and  propose  terms  that  nobody 
could  think  of  accepting,  to  pave  the  way  for  his  brother's 
less  unreasonable  propositions.  And  by  such  policy  the  pair 
attained  their  ends,  sooner  or  later. 

Eve,  with  a  woman's  tact,  had  soon  divined  the  characters 
of  the  two  brothers  ;  she  was  on  her  guard  with  foes  so  for- 
midable. David,  informed  beforehand  of  everything  by  his 
wife,  lent  a  profoundly  inattentive  mind  to  his  enemies'  pro- 
posals. 

"  Come  to  an  understanding  with  my  wife,"  he  said,  as  he 
left  the  Cointets  in  the  office  and  went  back  to  his  laboratory. 
"  Madame  Sechard  knows  more  about  the  business  than  I  do 
myself.  I  am  interested  in  something  that  will  pay  better 
than  this  poor  place  ;  I  hope  to  find  a  way  to  retrieve  the 
losses  that  I  have  made  through  you " 

"And  how?"  asked  the  fat  Cointet,  chuckling. 

Eve  gave  her  husband  a  look  that  meant,  "  Be  careful !  " 

"You  will  be  my  tributaries,"  said  David,  "and  all  other 
consumers  of  papers  beside." 

"Then  what  are  you  investigating?"  asked  the  hypo- 
critical Boniface  Cointet. 

Boniface's  question  slipped  out  smoothly  and  insinuatingly, 
and  again  Eve's  eyes  implored  her  husband  to  give  an  answer 
that  was  no  answer,  or  to  say  nothing  at  all. 

"  I  am  trying  to  produce  paper  at  fifty  per  cent,  less  than 
the  present  cost  price,"  and  he  went.  He  did  not  see  the 
glances  exchanged  between  the  brothers.  "  That  is  an  in- 
ventor, a  man  of  his  build  cannot  sit  with  his  hands  before 
him.  Let  us  exploit  him,"  said  Boniface's  eyes.  "  How 
can  we  do  it  ?  "  said  Jean's. 

Mme.  Sechard  spoke.  "  David  treats  me  just  in  the  same 
way,"  she  said.  "  If  I  show  any  curiosity,  he  feels  suspicious 
of  my  name,  no  doubt,  and  out  comes  that  remark  of  his ;  it 
is  only  a  formula,  after  all." 

"  If  your  husband  can  work  out  the  formula,  he  will  cer- 


180  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

tainly  make  a  fortune  more  quickly  than  by  printing  j  I  am 
not  surprised  that  he  leaves  the  business  to  itself,"  said  Boni- 
face, looking  across  the  empty  workshop,  where  Kolb,  seated 
upon  a  wetting-board,  was  rubbing  his  bread  with  a  clove  of 
garlic  ;  "  but  it  would  not  suit  our  views  to  see  this  place  in 
the  hands  of  an  energetic,  pushing,  ambitious  competitor," 
he  continued,  "  and  perhaps  it  might  be  possible  to  arrive  at 
an  understanding.  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  you  consented 
for  a  consideration  to  allow  us  to  put  in  one  of  our  own  men 
to  work  your  presses  for  our  benefit,  but  nominally  for  you  ; 
the  thing  is  sometimes  done  in  Paris.  We  would  find  the 
fellow  work  enough  to  enable  him  to  rent  your  place  and  pay 
you  well,  and  yet  make  a  little  profit  for  himself." 

"  It  depends  on  the  amount,"  said  Eve  S6chard.  "What 
is  your  offer?"  she  added,  looking  at  Boniface  to  let  him  see 
that  she  understood  his  scheme  perfectly  well. 

"What  is  your  own  idea?"  Jean  Cointet  put  in  briskly. 

"  Three  thousand  francs  for  six  months,"  said  she. 

"  Why,  my  dear  young  lady,  you  were  proposing  to  sell 
the  place  outright  for  twenty  thousand  francs,"  said  Boniface 
with  much  suavity.  "  The  interest  on  twenty  thousand  francs 
is  only  twelve  hundred  francs  per  annum  at  six  per  cent." 

Fora  moment  Eve  was  thrown  into  confusion  ;  she  saw 
the  need  for  discretion  in  matters  of  business. 

"You  wish  to  use  our  presses  and  our  name  as  well,"  she 
said ;  "  and,  as  I  have  already  shown  you,  I  can  still  do  a 
little  business.  And  then  we  pay  rent  to  M.  Sdchard  senior, 
who  does  not  load  us  with  presents." 

After  two  hours  of  debate,  Eve  obtained  two  thousand 
francs  for  six  months,  one  thousand  to  be  paid  in  advance. 
When  everything  was  concluded,  the  brothers  informed  her 
that  they  meant  to  put  in  Cdrizet  as  lessee  of  the  premises. 
In  spite  of  herself,  Eve  started  with  surprise. 

"  Isn't  it  better  to  have  somebody  who  knows  the  work- 
shop? "  asked  the  fat  Cointet. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  181 

Eve  made  no  reply;  she  took  leave  of  the  brothers,  vowing 
inwardly  to  look  after  Cerizet. 

"  Well,  here  are  our  enemies  in  the  place  !  "  laughed 
David,  when  Eve  brought  out  the  papers  for  his  signature  at 
dinner-time. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  she,  "  I  will  answer  for  Kolb  and  Marion  ; 
they  alone  would  look  after  things.  Beside,  we  shall  be  mak- 
ing an  in:ome  of  four  thousand  francs  from  the  workshop, 
which  only  costs  us  money  as  it  is ;  and,  looking  forward,  I  see 
a  year  in  which  you  may  realize  your  hopes." 

"  You  were  born  to  be  the  wife  of  a  scientific  worker,  as 
you  said  by  the  weir,"  said  David,  grasping  her  hand  ten- 
derly. 

But  though  the  Sechard  household  had  money  sufficient 
that  winter,  they  were  none  the  less  submitted  to  Cerizet's 
espionage,  and  all  unconsciously  became  dependent  upon 
Boniface  Cointet. 

"  We  have  them  now  !  "  the  manager  of  the  paper-mill  had 
exclaimed  as  he  left  the  house  with  his  brother  the  printer. 
"  They  will  begin  to  regard  the  rent  as  a  regular  income ; 
they  will  count  upon  it  and  run  themselves  into  debt.  In  six 
months'  time  we  will  decline  to  renew  the  agreement,  and 
then  we  shall  see  what  this  man  of  genius  has  at  the  bottom  of 
his  mind  ;  we  will  offer  to  help  him  out  of  his  difficulty  by 
taking  him  into  partnership  and  exploiting  his  discovery." 

Any  shrewd  man  of  business  who  should  have  seen  tall 
Cointet's  face  as  he  uttered  those  words,  "taking  him  into 
partnership,"  would  have  known  that  it  behooves  a  man  to  be 
even  more  careful  in  the  selection  of  the  partner  whom  he 
takes  before  the  Tribunal  of  Commerce  than  in  the  choice  of 
the  wife  whom  he  weds  at  the  mayor's  office.  Was  it  not 
enough  already,  and  more  than  enough,  that  the  ruthless 
hunters  were  on  the  track  of  the  quarry  ?  How  should 
David  and  his  wife,  with  Kolb  and  Marion  to  help  them, 
escape  the  toils  of  a  Boniface  Cointet? 


182  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

A  draft  for  five  hundred  francs  came  from  Lucien,  and  this, 
with  Cerizet's  second  payment,  enabled  them  to  meet  all  the 
expenses  of  Mme.  Sechard's  confinement.  Eve  and  the 
mother  and  David  had  thought  that  Lucien  had  forgotten 
them,  and  rejoiced  over  this  token  of  remembrance  as  they 
had  rejoiced  over  his  success,  for  his  first  exploits  in  journal- 
ism made  even  more  noise  in  Angoul&me  than  in  Paris. 

But  David,  thus  lulled  into  a  false  security,  was  to  receive 
a  staggering  blow,  a  cruel  letter  from  Lucien  : 

Lucien  to  David. 

"  MY  DEAR  DAVID  : — I  have  drawn  three  bills  on  you,  and 
negotiated  them  with  Metivier ;  they  fall  due  in  one,  two, 
and  three  months'  time.  I  took  this  hateful  course,  which  I 
know  will  burden  you  heavily,  because  the  one  alternative 
was  suicide.  I  will  explain  my  necessity  some  time,  and  I  will 
try  beside  to  send  the  amounts  as  the  bills  fall  due. 

"Burn  this  letter;  say  nothing  to  my  mother  and  sister; 
for,  I  confess  it,  I  have  counted  upon  you,  upon  the  heroism 
known  so  well  to  your  despairing  brother. 

"  LUCIEN  DE  RUBEMPRE." 

By  this  time  Eve  had  recovered  from  her  confinement. 

"Your  brother,  poor  fellow,  is  in  desperate  straits,"  David 
told  her.  "  I  have  sent  him  three  bills  for  a  thousand  francs 
at  one,  two,  and  three  months;  just  make  a  note  of  them," 
and  he  went  out  into  the  fields  to  escape  his  wife's  question- 
ings. 

But  Eve  had  felt  very  uneasy  already.  It  was  six  months 
since  Lucien  had  written  to  them.  She  talked  over  the  news 
with  her  mother  till  her  forebodings  grew  so  dark  that  she 
made  up  her  mind  to  dissipate  them.  She  would  take  a  bold 
step  in  her  despair. 

Young  M.  de  Rastignac  had  come  to  spend  a  few  days  with 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  183 

his  family.  He  had  spoken  of  Lucien  in  terms  that  set  Paris 
gossip  circulating  in  AngoulSme,  till  at  last  it  reached  the 
journalist's  mother  and  sister.  Eve  went  to  Mme.  de  Ras- 
tignac,  asked  the  favor  of  an  interview  with  her  son,  spoke  of 
all  her  fears  and  asked  him  for  the  truth.  In  a  moment  Eve 
heard  of  her  brother's  connection  with  the  actress  Coralie,  of 
his  duel  with  Michel  Chrestien,  arising  out  of  his  own  treach- 
erous behavior  to  Daniel  d' Arthez ;  she  received,  in  short,  a 
version  of  Lucien's  history,  colored  by  the  personal  feeling  of 
a  clever  and  envious  dandy.  Rastignac  expressed  sincere 
admiration  for  the  abilities  so  terribly  compromised,  and  a 
patriotic  fear  for  the  future  of  a  native  genius;  spite  and 
jealousy  masqueraded  as  pity  and  friendliness.  He  spoke  of 
Lucien's  blunders.  It  seemed  that  Lucien  had  forfeited  the 
favor  of  a  very  great  person,  and  that  a  patent  conferring  the 
right  to  bear  the  name  and  arms  of  Rubempre  had  actually 
been  made  out  and  subsequently  torn  up. 

"If  your  brother,  madame,  had  been  well  advised,  he 
would  have  been  on  the  way  to  honors,  and  Madame  de 
Bargeton's  husband  by  this  time ;  but  what  can  you  expect  ? 
He  deserted  her  and  insulted  her.  She  is  now  Madame  la 
Comtesse  Sixte  de  Chatelet  to  her  own  great  regret,  for  she 
loved  Lucien." 

"  Is  it  possible  !  "  exclaimed  Mme.  S£chard. 

"Your  brother  is  like  a  young  eagle,  blinded  by  the  first 
rays  of  glory  and  luxury.  When  an  eagle  falls,  who  can  tell 
how  far  he  may  sink  before  he  drops  to  the  bottom  of  some 
precipice  ?  The  fall  of  a  great  man  is  always  proportionately 
great." 

Eve  came  away  with  a  great  dread  in  her  heart ;  those  last 
words  pierced  her  like  an  arrow.  She  had  been  wounded  to  the 
quick.  She  said  not  a  word  to  anybody,  but  again  and  again 
a  tear  rolled  down  her  cheeks  and  fell  upon  the  child  at  her 
breast.  So  hard  is  it  to  give  up  illusions  sanctioned  by  family 
feelings,  illusions  that  have  grown  with  our  growth,  that  Eve 


184  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

had  doubted  Eugene  de  Rastignac.  She  would  rather  hear  a 
true  friend's  account  of  her  brother.  Lucien  had  given  them 
d'Arthez's  address  in  the  days  when  he  was  full  of  enthusiasm 
for  the  brotherhood  ;  she  wrote  a  pathetic  letter  to  d'Arthez, 
and  received  the  following  reply: 

D  'Artkcz  to  Mme.  Sechard. 

"  MADAME  : — You  ask  me  to  tell  you  the  truth  about  the  life 
that  your  brother  is  leading  in  Paris;  you  are  anxious  for 
enlightenment  as  to  his  prospects ;  and,  to  encourage  a  frank 
answer  on  my  part,  you  repeat  certain  things  that  M.  de 
Rastignac  has  told  you,  asking  me  if  they  are  true.  With 
regard  to  the  purely  personal  matter,  madame,  M.  de  Ras- 
tignac's  confidences  must  be  corrected  in  Lucien's  favor. 
Your  brother  wrote  a  criticism  of  my  book,  and  brought  it 
to  me  in  remorse,  telling  me  that  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  publish  it,  although  disobedience  to  the  orders  of  his  party 
might  endanger  one  who  was  very  dear  to  him.  Alas  !  mad- 
ame, a  man  of  letters  must  needs  comprehend  all  passions, 
since  it  is  his  pride  to  express  them  ;  I  understood  that  where 
a  mistress  and  a  friend  are  involved,  the  friend  is  inevitably 
sacrificed.  I  smoothed  your  brother's  way  ;  I  corrected  his 
murderous  article  myself  and  gave  it  my  full  approval. 

"You  ask  whether  Lucien  has  kept  my  friendship  and 
esteem ;  to  this  it  is  difficult  to  make  an  answer.  Your  brother 
is  on  a  road  that  leads  to  ruin.  At  this  moment  I  still  feel 
sorry  for  him  ;  before  long  I  shall  have  forgotten  him,  of  set 
purpose,  not  so  much  on  account  of  what  he  has  done  already 
as  for  that  which  he  inevitably  will  do.  Your  Lucien  is  not  a 
poet,  he  has  the  poetic  temper;  he  dreams,  he  does  not  think  ; 
he  spends  himself  in  emotion,  he  does  not  create.  He  is,  in 
fact — permit  me  to  say  it — a  womanish  creature  that  loves  to 
shine,  the  Frenchman's  great  failing.  Lucien  will  always 
sacrifice  his  best  friend  for  the  pleasure  of  displaying  his  own 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  183 

wit.  He  would  not  hesitate  to  sign  a  pact  with  the  devil  to- 
morrow if  so  he  might  secure  a  few  years  of  luxurious  and  glo- 
rious life.  Nay,  has  he  not  done  worse  already  ?  He  has 
bartered  his  future  for  the  short-lived  delights  of  living  openly 
with  an  actress.  So  far  he  has  not  seen  the  dangers  of  his 
p'osition  ;  the  girl's  youth  and  beauty  and  devotion  (for  she 
worships  him)  have  closed  his  eyes  to  the  truth ;  he  cannot 
see  that  no  glory  nor  success  nor  fortune  can  induce  the  world 
to  accept  the  position.  Very  well,  as  it  is  now,  so  it  will  be 
with  each  new  temptation — your  brother  will  not  look  beyond 
the  enjoyment  of  the  moment.  Do  not  be  alarmed  ;  Lucien 
will  never  go  so  far  as  a  crime,  he  has  not  the  strength  of 
character ;  but  he  would  take  the  fruits  of  a  crime,  he  would 
share  the  benefit  but  not  the  risk — a  thing  that  seems  abhor- 
rent to  the  whole  world,  even  to  scoundrels.  Oh,  he  would 
despise  himself,  he  would  repent ;  but  bring  him  once  more  to 
the  test,  and  he  would  fail  again  ;  for  he  is  weak  of  will,  he 
cannot  resist  the  allurements  of  pleasure  nor  forego  the  least 
of  his  ambitions.  He  is  indolent,  like  all  who  would  fain  be 
poets;  he  thinks  it  clever  to  juggle  with  the  difficulties  of  life 
instead  of  facing  and  overcoming  them.  He  will  be  brave  at 
one  time,  cowardly  at  another,  and  deserves  neither  credit  for 
his  courage  nor  blame  for  his  cowardice.  Lucien  is  like  a 
harp  with  strings  that  are  slackened  or  tightened  by  the  at- 
mosphere. He  might  write  a  great  book  in  a  glad  or  angry 
mood,  and  care  nothing  for  the  success  that  he  had  desired  for 
so  long. 

"  When  he  first  came  to  Paris  he  fell  under  the  influence  of 
an  unprincipled  young  fellow,  and  was  dazzled  by  his  com- 
panion's adroitness  and  experience  in  the  difficulties  of  a  lit- 
erary life.  The  juggler  completely  bewitched  Lucien  ;  he 
dragged  him  into  a  life  which  a  man  cannot  lead  and  respect 
himself,  and,  unluckily  for  Lucien,  love  shed  its  magic  over 
the  path.  The  admiration  that  is  given  too  readily  is  a  sign 
of  want  of  judgment ;  a  poet  ought  not  to  be  paid  in  the  same 


186  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

coin  as  a  dancer  on  the  tight-rope.  We  all  felt  hurt  when  in- 
trigue and  literary  rascality  were  preferred  to  the  courage  and 
honor  of  those  who  counseled  Lucien  rather  to  face  the  battle 
than  to  filch  success,  to  spring  down  into  the  arena  rather 
than  become  a  trumpet  in  the  orchestra. 

"Society,  madame,  oddly  enough,  shows  plentiful  indul- 
gence to  young  men  of  Lucien's  stamp;  they  are  popular,  the 
world  is  fascinated  by  their  external  gifts  and  good  looks. 
Nothing  is  asked  of  them,  all  their  sins  are  forgiven ;  they  are 
treated  like  perfect  natures,  others  are  blind  to  their  defects, 
they  are  the  world's  spoiled  children.  And,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  world  is  stern  beyond  measure  to  strong  and  complete  na- 
tures. Perhaps  in  this  apparently  flagrant  injustice  society  acts 
sublimely,  taking  a  harlequin  at  his  just  worth,  asking  nothing 
of  him  but  amusement,  promptly  forgetting  him ;  and  asking 
divine  great  deeds  of  those  before  whom  she  bends  the  knee. 
Everything  is  judged  by  the  laws  of  its  being ;  the  diamond 
must  be  flawless ;  the  ephemeral  creation  of  fashion  may  be 
flimsy,  bizarre,  inconsequent.  So  Lucien  may  perhaps  suc- 
ceed to  admiration  in  spite  of  his  mistakes ;  he  has  only  to 
profit  by  some  happy  vein  or  to  be  among  good  companions  ; 
but  if  an  evil  angel  crosses  his  path  he  will  go  to  the  very 
depths  of  hell.  'Tis  a  brilliant  assemblage  of  good  qualities 
embroidered  upon  too  slight  a  tissue  ;  time  wears  the  flowers 
away  till  nothing  but  the  web  is  left ;  and  if  that  is  poor  stuff, 
you  behold  a  rag  at  the  last.  So  long  as  Lucien  is  young, 
people  will  like  him  ;  but  where  will  he  be  as  a  man  of 
thirty?  That  is  the  question  which  those  who  love  him  sin- 
cerely are  bound  to  ask  themselves.  If  I  alone  had  come  to 
think  in  this  way  of  Lucien  I  might  perhaps  have  spared  you 
the  pain  which  my  plain  speaking  will  give  you  ;  but  to  evade 
the  questions  put  by  your  anxiety  and  to  answer  a  cry  of 
anguish  like  your  letter  with  commonplaces  seemed  to  me 
alike  unworthy  of  you  and  of  me,  whom  you  esteem  too 
highly ;  and,  beside,  those  of  my  friends  who  knew  Lucien 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  187 

are  unanimous  in  their  judgment.  So  it  appeared  to  me  to 
be  a  duty  to  put  the  truth  before  you,  terrible  though  it  may 
be.  Anything  may  be  expected  of  Lucien,  anything  good  or 
evil.  That  is  our  opinion,  and  this  letter  is  summed  up  in 
that  sentence.  If  the  vicissitudes  of  his  present  way  of  life 
(a  very  wretched  and  slippery  one)  should  bring  the  poet 
back  to  you,  use  all  your  influence  to  keep  him  among  you ; 
for  until  his  character  has  acquired  stability,  Paris  will  not  be 
safe  for  him.  He  used  to  speak  of  you,  you  and  your  hus- 
band, as  his  guardian  angels ;  he  has  forgotten  you,  no  doubt ; 
but  he  will  remember  you  again  when  tossed  by  tempest,  with 
no  refuge  left  to  him  but  his  home.  Keep  your  heart  for  him, 
madame ;  he  will  need  it. 

"  Permit  me,  madame,  to  convey  to  you  the  expression  of 
the  sincere  respect  of  a  man  to  whom  your  rare  qualities  are 
known,  a  man  who  honors  your  mother's  fears  so  much,  that 
he  desires  to  style  himself  your  devoted  servant, 

"D'ARTHEZ." 

Two  days  after  the  letter  came  Eve  was  obliged  to  find  a 
wet-nurse  ;  her  milk  had  dried  up.  She  had  made  a  god  of 
her  brother ;  now,  in  her  eyes,  he  was  depraved  through  the 
exercise  of  his  noblest  faculties ;  he  was  wallowing  in  the  mire. 
She,  noble  creature  that  she  was,  was  incapable  of  swerving 
from  honesty  and  scrupulous  delicacy,  from  all  the  pious  tradi- 
tions of  the  hearth,  which  still  burns  so  clearly  and  sheds  its 
light  abroad  in  quiet  country  homes.  Then  David  had  been 
right  in  his  forecasts  !  The  leaden  hues  of  grief  overspread 
Eve's  white  brow.  She  told  her  husband  her  secret  in  one 
of  the  pellucid  talks  in  which  married  lovers  tell  everything 
to  each  other.  The  tones  of  David's  voice  brought  comfort. 
Though  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes  when  he  knew  that  grief 
had  dried  his  wife's  fair  breast,  and  knew  Eve's  despair  that 
she  could  not  fulfill  her  mother's  duties,  he  held  out  reassuring 
hopes. 


188  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"Your  brother's  imagination  has  led  him  astray,  you  see, 
child.  It  is  so  natural  that  a  poet  should  wish  for  blue  and 
purple  robes  and  hurry  as  eagerly  after  festivals  as  he  does. 
It  is  a  bird  that  loves  glitter  and  luxury  with  such  simple  sin- 
cerity, that  God  forgives  him  if  man  condemns  him  for  it." 

"But  he  is  draining  our  lives!  "  exclaimed  poor,  unhappy 
Eve. 

"  He  is  draining  our  lives  just  now,  but  only  a  few  months 
ago  he  saved  us  by  sending  us  the  firstfruits  of  his  earnings," 
said  the  good  David.  He  had  the  sense  to  see  that  his  wife, 
in  her  despair,  was  going  beyond  the  limit,  and  that  love  for 
Lucien  would  rery  soon  come  back.  ' '  Fifty  years  ago,  or 
thereabouts,  Mercier  said  in  his  '  Tableau  de  Paris '  that  a 
man  cannot  live  by  literature,  poetry,  letters,  or  science,  by 
the  creatures  of  his  brain,  in  short ;  and  Lucien,  poet  that  he 
is,  would  not  believe  the  experience  of  five  centuries.  The 
harvests  that  are  watered  with  ink  are  only  reaped  ten  or 
twelve  years  after  the  sowing,  if  indeed  there  is  any  harvest 
after  all.  Lucien  has  taken  the  green  wheat  for  the  sheaves. 
He  will  have  learned  something  of  life  at  any  rate.  He  was 
the  dupe  of  a  woman  at  the  outset ;  he  was  sure  to  be  duped 
afterward  by  the  world  and  false  friends.  He  has  bought  his 
experience  dear,  that  is  all.  Our  ancestors  used  to  say,  '  If 
the  son  of  the  house  brings  back  his  two  ears  and  his  honor 
safe,  all  is  well "' 

"Honor!"  poor  Eve  broke  in.  "Oh!  but  Lucien  has 
fallen  in  so  many  ways  !  Writing  against  his  conscience ! 
Attacking  his  best  friend  !  Living  upon  an  actress  !  Show- 
ing himself  in  public  with  her.  Bringing  us  to  lie  on 
straw " 

"Oh,  that  is  nothing "  cried  David,  and  suddenly 

stopped  short.  The  secret  of  Lucien's  forgery  had  nearly 
escaped  him,  and,  unluckily,  his  start  left  a  vague,  uneasy  im- 
pression on  Eve. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  nothing  ?  "  she  answered.    "  And 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  189 

where  shall  we  find  the  money  to  meet  bills  for  three  thou- 
sand francs?" 

"  We  shall  be  obliged  to  renew  the  lease  with  Cerizet,  to 
begin  with,"  said  David.  "The  Cointets  have  been  allow- 
ing him  fifteen  per  cent,  on  the  work  done  for  them,  and  in 
that  way  alone  he  has  made  six  hundred  francs,  beside  con- 
triving to  make  five  hundred  francs  by  job-printing." 

"  If  the  Cointets  know  that,  perhaps  they  will  not  renew 
the  lease,"  said  Eve.  "They  will  be  afraid  of  him,  for 
Cerizet  is  a  dangerous  man." 

"Eh!  what  is  that  to  me!"  cried  David,  "we  shall  be 
rich  in  a  very  little  while.  When  Lucien  is  rich,  dear  angel, 
he  will  have  nothing  but  good  qualities." 

"Oh!  David,  my  dear;  what  is  this  that  you  have  said 
unthinkingly  ?  Then,  Lucien  fallen  into  the  clutches  of  pov- 
erty would  not  have  the  force  of  character  to  resist  evil  ? 
And  you  think  just  as  Monsieur  d'Arthez  thinks  !  No  one  is 
great  unless  he  has  strength  of  character,  and  Lucien  is 
weak.  An  angel  who  must  not  be  tempted — what  is 
that?" 

"  What  but  a  nature  that  is  noble  only  in  its  own  region, 
its  own  sphere,  its  heaven?  I  will  spare  him  the  struggle; 
Lucien  is  not  meant  for  it.  Look  here  !  I  am  so  near  the 
end  now  that  I  can  talk  to  you  about  the  means." 

He  drew  several  sheets  of  white  paper  from  his  pocket, 
brandished  them  in  triumph,  and  laid  them  on  his  wife's 
lap. 

"A  ream  of  this  paper,  royal  size,  would  cost  five  francs 
at  the  most,"  he  added,  while  Eve  handled  the  specimens 
with  almost  childish  surprise. 

"Why,  how  did  you  make  these  sample  bits?"  she 
asked. 

"With  an  old  kitchen  sieve  of  Marion's." 

"And  are  you  not  satisfied  yet?"  asked  Eve. 

"The  problem  does  not  lie  in  the  manufacturing  process; 


190  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

it  is  a  question  of  the  first  cost  of  the  pulp.  Alas,  child,  I 
am  only  a  late  comer  in  a  difficult  path.  As  long  ago  as  1 794 
Mme.  Masson  tried  to  use  printed  paper  a  second  time  ;  she 
succeeded,  but  what  a  price  it  cost  !  The  Marquis  of  Salis- 
bury tried  to  use  straw  as  a  material  in  1800,  and  the  same 
idea  occurred  to  Seguin  in  France  in  1801.  Those  sheets  in 
your  hand  are  made  from  the  common  rush,  the  arundo  phrag- 
mitcs,  but  I  shall  try  nettles  and  thistles  ;  for  if  the  material 
is  to  continue  to  be  cheap,  one  must  look  for  something  that 
will  grow  in  marshes  and  waste-lands  where  nothing  else  can 
be  grown.  The  whole  secret  lies  in  the  preparation  of  the 
stems.  At  present  my  method  is  not  quite  simple  enough. 
Still  in  spite  of  this  difficulty,  I  feel  sure  that  I  can  give  the 
French  paper-trade  the  privilege  of  our  literature ;  paper- 
making  will  be  for  France  what  coal  and  iron  and  coarse 
potter's  clay  are  for  England — a  monopoly.  I  mean  to  be 
the  Jacquart*  of  the  trade." 

Eve  rose  to  her  feet.  David's  simple-mindedness  had  roused 
her  to  enthusiasm,  to  admiration  ;  she  held  out  her  arms  to 
him  and  held  him  tightly  to  her,  while  she  laid  her  head  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"  You  give  me  my  reward  as  if  I  had  succeeded  already," 
he  said. 

For  all  answer  Eve  held  up  her  sweet  face,  wet  with  tears, 
to  his,  and  for  a  moment  she  could  not  speak. 

"The  kiss  was  not  for  the  man  of  genius,"  she  said,  "but 
for  my  comforter.  Here  is  a  rising  glory  for  the  glory  that 
has  set ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  my  grief  for  the  brother  that 
has  fallen  so  low,  my  husband's  greatness  is  revealed  to  me. 
Yes,  you  will  be  great,  great  like  the  Graindorges,  the  Rouvets, 
and  Van  Robais',  and  the  Persian  who  discovered  madder, 
like  all  the  men  you  have  told  me  about ;  great  men  whom 
nobody  remembers,  because  their  good  deeds  were  obscure 
industrial  triumphs." 

*  Or  Jacquard,  the  inventor  of  the  weaving  loom. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  191 

"What  are  they  doing  just  now?" 

It  was  Boniface  Cointet  who  spoke.  He  was  walking  up 
and  down  outside  in  the  Place  du  Murier  with  Cerizet,  watch- 
ing the  silhouettes  of  the  husband  and  wife  on  the  blinds. 
He  always  came  at  midnight  for  a  chat  with  Cerizet,  for  the 
latter  played  the  spy  upon  his  former  master's  every  movement. 

"  He  is  showing  her  the  paper  he  made  this  morning,  no 
doubt,"  said  Cerizet. 

"What  is  it  made  of?"  asked  the  paper  manufacturer. 

"  Impossible  to  guess,"  answered  Cerizet ;  "  I  made  a  hole 
in  the  roof  and  scrambled  up  and  watched  the  boss ;  he  was 
boiling  pulp  in  a  copper  pan  all  last  night.  There  was  a  heap 
of  stuff  in  a  corner,  but  I  could  make  nothing  of  it ;  it  looked 
like  a  heap  of  tow  as  near  as  I  could  make  out." 

"  Go  no  farther,"  said  Boniface  Cointet  in  unctuous  tones; 
"  it  would  not  be  right.  Madame  Sechard  will  offer  to  renew 
your  lease ;  tell  her  that  you  are  thinking  of  setting  up  for 
yourself.  Offer  her  half  the  value  of  the  plant  and  license, 
and,  if  she  takes  the  bid,  come  to  me.  In  any  case  spin  the 
matter  out.  Have  they  no  money  ?  " 

"  Not  a  sou,"  said  Cerizet. 

"  Not  a  sou,"  repeated  tall  Cointet.  "  I  have  them  now," 
said  he  to  himself. 

Mdtivier,  paper  manufacturers'  wholesale  agent,  and  Cointet 
Brothers,  printers  and  paper  manufacturers,  were  also  bankers 
in  all  but  name.  This  surreptitious  banking  system  defies  all 
the  ingenuity  of  the  Internal  Revenue  Department.  Every 
banker  is  required  to  take  out  a  license  which,  in  Paris,  costs 
five  hundred  francs ;  but  no  hitherto  devised  method  of  con- 
trolling commerce  can  detect  the  delinquents  or  compel  them 
to  pay  their  due  to  the  government.  And  though  Metivier 
and  the  Cointets  were  "outside  brokers,"  in  the  language  of 
the  Stock  Exchange,  none  the  less  among  them  they  could 
set  some  hundreds  of  thousands  of  francs  moving  every  three 
months  in  the  markets  of  Paris,  Bordeaux,  and  AngouleTne. 


192  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Now  it  so  fell  out  that  that  very  evening  Cointet  Brothers 
had  received  Lucien's  forged  bills  in  the  course  of  business. 
Upon  this  debt  tall  Cointet  forthwith  erected  a  formidable 
engine,  pointed,  as  will  presently  be  seen,  against  the  poor, 
patient  inventor. 

By  seven  o'clock  next  morning  Boniface  Cointet  was  taking 
a  walk  by  the  mill-stream  that  turned  the  wheels  in  his  big 
factory ;  the  sound  of  the  water  covered  his  talk,  for  he  was 
talking  with  a  companion,  a  young  man  of  nine-and-twenty, 
who  had  been  appointed  attorney  to  the  Court  of  First  In- 
stance in  AngouleTne  some  six  weeks  ago.  The  young  man's 
name  was  Pierre  Petit-Claud. 

"  You  are  a  school-fellow  of  David  Sechard's,  are  you  not?" 
asked  tall  Cointet  by  wayt)f  greeting  to  the  young  attorney. 
Petit-Claud  had  lost  no  time  in  answering  to  the  wealthy 
manufacturer's  summons. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Petit-Claud,  keeping  step  with  tall  Cointet, 

"  Have  you  renewed  the  acquaintance  ?  " 

"We  have  met  once  or  twice  at  most  since  he  came  back. 
It  could  hardly  have  been  otherwise.  In  Paris  I  was  buried 
away  in  the  office  or  at  the  courts  on  weekdays,  and  on  Sun- 
days and  holidays  I  was  hard  at  work  studying,  for  I  had  only 
myself  to  look  to."  (Tall  Cointet  nodded  approvingly.) 
"When  we  met  again,  David  and  I,  he  asked  me  what  I  had 
done  with  myself.  I  told  him  that  after  I  had  finished  my 
time  at  Poitiers  I  had  risen  to  be  Master  Olivet's  head  clerk, 
and  that  some  time  or  other  I  hoped  to  make  a  bid  for  his 
berth.  I  know  a  good  deal  more  of  Lucien  Chardon  (de  Ru- 
bempr6  he  calls  himself  now),  he  was  Madame  de  Bargeton's 
lover,  our  great  poet,  David  Sechard's  brother-in-law,  in 
fact." 

"  Then  you  can  go  and  tell  David  of  your  appointment  and 
offer  him  your  services,"  said  tall  Cointet. 

"  One  can't  do  that,"  said  the  young  attorney. 

"  He  has  never  had  a  lawsuit  and  he  has  no  attorney,  so 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  193 

one  can  do  that,"  said  Cointet,  scanning  the  other  narrowly 
from  behind  his  colored  spectacles. 

A  certain  quantity  of  gall  mingled  with  the  blood  in  Pierre 
Petit-Claud's  veins;  his  father  was  a  tailor  in  L'Houmeau,  and 
his  school-fellows  had  looked  down  upon  him.  His  complexion 
was  of  the  muddy  and  unwholesome  kind,  which  tells  a  tale 
of  bad  health,  late  hours  and  penury,  and  almost  always  of  a 
bad  disposition.  The  best  description  of  him  may  be  given 
in  two  familiar  expressions — he  was  sharp  and  snappish.  His 
cracked  voice  suited  his  sour  face,  meagre  look,  and  magpie's 
eyes  of  no  particular  color.  A  magpie's  eye,  according  to 
Napoleon,  is  a  sure  sign  of  dishonesty.  "  Look  at  So-and- 
so,"  he  said  to  Las  Cases  at  St.  Helena,  alluding  to  a  confi- 
dential servant  whom  he  had  been  obliged  to  dismiss  for  mal- 
versation. "  I  do  not  know  how  I  could  have  been  deceived 
in  him  for  so  long;  he  has  a  magpie's  eye."  Tall  Cointet, 
surveying  the  weedy  little  lawyer,  noted  his  face  pitted  with 
smallpox,  the  thin  hair,  and  the  forehead,  bald  already,  re- 
ceding toward  a  bald  cranium  ;  saw,  too,  the  confession  of 
weakness  in  his  attitude  with  the  hand  on  the  hip.  "  Here  is 
my  man,"  said  he  to  himself. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  Petit-Claud,  who  had  drunk  scorn 
like  water,  was  eaten  up  with  a  strong  desire  to  succeed  in 
life ;  he  had  no  money,  but  nevertheless  he  had  the  audacity 
to  buy  his  employer's  connection  for  thirty  thousand  francs, 
reckoning  upon  a  rich  marriage  to  clear  off  the  debt,  and  looking 
to  his  employer,  after  the  usual  custom,  to  find  him  a  wife,  for 
an  attorney  always  has  an  interest  in  marrying  his  successor, 
because  he  is  the  sooner  paid  off.  But  if  Petit-Claud  counted 
upon  his  employer,  he  counted  yet  more  upon  himself.  He 
had  more  than  average  ability,  and  that  of  a  kind  not  often 
found  in  the  provinces,  and  rancor  was  the  mainspring  of  his 
power.  A  mighty  hatred  makes  a  mighty  effort. 

There  is  a  great  difference  between  a  country  attorney  and 
an  attorney  in  Paris  ;  tall  Cointet  was  too  clever  not  to  know 
13 


194  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

this,  and  to  turn  the  meaner  passions  that  move  a  pettifogging 
lawyer  to  good  account.  An  eminent  attorney  in  Paris,  and 
there  are  many  who  may  be  so  qualified,  is  bound  to  possess, 
to  some  extent,  the  diplomatist's  qualities;  he  has  so  much 
business  to  transact,  business  in  which  large  interests  are  in- 
volved ;  questions  of  such  wide  interest  are  submitted  to  him 
that  he  does  not  look  upon  procedure  as  machinery  for  bring- 
ing money  into  his  pocket,  but  as  a  weapon  of  attack  or  de- 
fense. A  country  attorney,  on  the  other  hand,  cultivates  the 
science  of  costs,  broutille  (little  things),  as  it  is  called  in  Paris, 
a  host  of  small  items  that  swell  lawyers'  bills  and  require 
stamped  paper.  These  less  weighty  matters  of  the  law  com- 
pletely fill  the  country  attorney's  mind  ;  he  has  a  bill  of  costs 
always  before  his  eyes,  whereas  his  brother  of  Paris  thinks  of 
nothing  but  his  fees.  The  fee  is  a  honorarium  paid  by  a  client 
over  and  above  the  bill  of  costs,  for  the  more  or  less  skillful 
conduct  of  his  case.  One-half  of  the  bill  of  costs  goes  to  the 
Treasury,  whereas  the  entire  fee  belongs  to  the  attorney.  Let 
us  admit  frankly  that  the  fees  received  are  seldom  as  large  as 
the  fees  demanded  and  deserved  by  a  clever  lawyer.  Where- 
fore, in  Paris,  attorneys,  doctors,  and  barristers,  like  courte- 
sans with  a  chance-come  lover,  take  very  considerable  precau- 
tions against  the  gratitude  of  clients.  The  client  before  and 
after  the  lawsuit  would  furnish  a  subject  worthy  of  Messonier; 
there  would  be  brisk  bidding  among  attorneys  for  the  posses- 
sion of  two  such  admirable  bits  of  genre. 

There  is  yet  another  difference  between  the  Parisian  and 
the  country  attorney.  An  attorney  in  Paris  very  seldom  ap- 
pears in  court,  though  he  is  sometimes  called  upon  to  act  as 
rcferc  (arbitrator).  Barristers,  at  the  present  day,  swarm  in  the 
provinces;  but  in  1822  the  country  attorney  very  often  united 
the  functions  of  solicitor  and  counsel.  As  a  result  of  this 
double  life,  the  attorney  acquired  the  peculiar  intellectual  de- 
fects of  the  barrister,  and  retained  the  heavy  responsibilities 
of  the  attorney.  He  grew  talkative  and  fluent  and  lost  his 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  195 

lucidity  of  judgment,  the  first  necessity  for  the  conduct  of 
affairs.  If  a  man  of  more  than  ordinary  ability  tries  to  do 
the  work  of  two  men,  he  is  apt  to  find  that  the  two  men  are 
mediocrities.  The  Paris  attorney  never  spends  himself  in 
forensic  eloquence  ;  and,  as  he  seldom  attempts  to  argue  for 
and  against,  he  has  some  hope  of  preserving  his  mental  recti- 
tude. It  is  true  that  he  brings  the  balista  of  the  law  to  work, 
and  looks  for  the  weapons  in  the  armory  of  judicial  contradic- 
tions, but  he  keeps  his  own  convictions  as  to  the  case,  while 
he  does  his  best  to  gain  the  day.  In  a  word,  a  man  loses  his 
head  not  so  much  by  thinking  as  by  uttering  thoughts.  The 
spoken  word  convinces  the  utterer ;  but  a  man  can  act  against 
his  own  judgment  without  warping  it,  and  contrive  to  win  in 
a  bad  cause  without  maintaining  that  it  is  a  good  one,  like 
the  barrister.  Perhaps  for  this  very  reason  an  old  attorney  is 
the  more  likely  of  the  two  to  make  a  good  judge. 

A  country  attorney,  as  we  have  seen,  has  plenty  of  excuses 
for  his  mediocrity ;  he  takes  up  the  cause  of  petty  passions, 
he  undertakes  pettifogging  business,  he  lives  by  charging  ex- 
penses, he  strains  the  code  of  procedure  and  pleads  in  court. 
In  a  word,  his  weak  points  are  legion  ;  and  if  by  chance  you 
come  across  a  remarkable  man  practicing  as  a  country  attor- 
ney, he  is  indeed  above  the  average  level. 

"  I  thought,  sir,  that  you  sent  for  me  on  your  own  affairs," 
said  Petit-Claud,  and  a  glance  that  put  an  edge  on  his  words 
fell  upon  tall  Cointet's  impenetrable  blue  spectacles. 

"  Let  us  have  no  beating  about  the  bush,"  returned  Boni- 
face Cointet.  "Listen  to  me." 

After  that  beginning,  big  with  mysterious  import,  Cointet 
set  himself  down  upon  a  bench  and  beckoned  Petit-Claud  to 
do  likewise. 

"When  Monsieur  du  Hautoy  came  to  Angouleme  in  1804 
on  his  way  to  his  consulship  at  Valence,  he  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Madame  de  Senonches,  then  Mademoiselle  Zephirine, 
and  had  a  daughter  by  her,"  added  Cointet  for  the  attorney's 


196  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

ear "Yes,"  he  continued,  as  Petit-Claud  gave  a  start; 

"  yes,  and  Mademoiselle  Zephirine's  marriage  with  Monsieur 
de  Senonches  soon  followed  the  birth  of  the  child.  The  girl 
was  brought  up  in  my  mother's  house ;  she  is  the  Mademoi- 
selle Francoise  de  la  Haye  in  whom  Madame  de  Senonches 
takes  an  interest ;  she  is  her  godmother  in  the  usual  style. 
Now,  my  mother  farmed  land  belonging  to  old  Madame  de 
Cardanet,  Mademoiselle  Zephirine's  grandmother ;  and,  as  she 
knew  the  secret  of  the  sole  heiress  of  the  Cardanets  and  the 
Senonches  of  the  older  branch,  they  made  me  trustee  for  the 
little  sum  which  Monsieur  Francois  du  Hautoy  meant  for  the 
girl's  fortune.  I  made  my  own  fortune  with  those  ten  thou- 
sand francs,  which  amount  to  thirty  thousand  at  the  present 
day.  Madame  de  Senonehes  is  sure  to  give  the  wedding 
clothes  and  some  plate  and  furniture  to  her  goddaughter. 
Now,  I  can  put  you  in  the  way  of  marrying  the  girl,  my  lad," 
said  Cointet,  slapping  Petit-Claud  on  the  knee ;  "and  when 
you  marry  Francoise  de  la  Haye,  you  will  have  a  large  number 
of  the  aristocracy  of  Angouleme  as  your  clients.  This  under- 
standing between  us  (under  the  rose)  will  open  up  magnifi- 
cent prospects  for  you.  Your  position  will  be  as  much  as  any 
one  could  want ;  in  fact,  they  don't  ask  better,  I  know." 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  Peti-Claud  asked  eagerly.  "  You 
have  an  attorney,  Master  Cachan " 

"And,  moreover,  I  shall  not  leave  Cachan  at  once  for 
you;  I  shall  only  be  your  client  later  on,"  said  Cointet  sig- 
nificantly. "  What  is  to  be  done,  do  you  ask,  my  friend  ? 
Eh  !  why,  David  S6chard's  business.  The  poor  devil  has 
three  thousand  francs'  worth  of  bills  to  meet ;  he  will  not 
meet  them  ;  you  will  stave  off  legal  proceedings  in  such  a  way 
as  to  increase  the  expenses  enormously.  Don't  trouble  your- 
self; go  on,  pile  on  items.  Doublon,  my  process-server,  will 
act  under  Cachan's  directions,  and  he  will  lay  on  like  a  black- 
smith. A  word  to  the  wise  is  sufficient.  Now,  young 
man? " 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  197 

An  eloquent  pause  followed,  and  the  two  men  looked  at 
each  other. 

"We  have  never  seen  each  other,"  Cointet  resumed;  "I 
have  not  said  a  syllable  to  you ;  you  know  nothing  about 
Monsieur  du  Hautoy,  nor  about  Madame  de  Senonches,  nor 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Haye ;  only,  when  the  time  comes,  two 
months  hence,  you  will  propose  for  the  young  lady.  If  we 
should  want  to  see  each  other,  you  will  come  here  after  dark. 
Let  us  have  nothing  in  writing  ?  " 

"Then  you  mean  to  ruin  Sechard?  "  asked  Petit-Claud  of 
Cointet. 

"  Not  exactly;  but  he  must  be  in  gaol  for  some  time " 

"  And  what  is  the  object?  " 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  am  noodle  enough  to  tell  you  that? 
If  you  have  wit  enough  to  find  out,  you  will  have  sense 
enough  to  hold  your  tongue." 

"  Old  Sechard  has  plenty  of  money,"  said  Petit-Claud. 
He  was  beginning  already  to  enter  into  Boniface  Cointet's 
notions,  and  foresaw  a  possible  cause  of  failure. 

"So  long  as  the  father  lives,  he  will  not  give  his  son  a 
centime ;  and  the  old  printer  has  no  mind  as  yet  to  send  in 
an  order  for  his  funeral  cards." 

"Agreed!"  said  Petit-Claud,  promptly  making  up  his 
mind.  "I  don't  ask  you  for  guarantees;  I  am  an  attorney. 
If  any  one  plays  me  a  trick,  there  will  be  an  account  to  settle 
between  us." 

"The  rogue  will  go  far,"  thought  Cointet;  he  bade  Petit- 
Claud  good-morning. 

The  day  after  this  conference  was  the  3oth  of  April,  and 
the  Cointets  presented  the  first  of  the  three  bills  forged  by 
Lucien.  Unluckily,  the  bill  was  brought  to  poor  Mme. 
Sechard ;  and  she,  seeing  at  once  that  the  signature  was  not 
in  her  husband's  handwriting,  sent  for  David  and  asked  him 
point-blank — 

"You  did  not  put  your  name  to  that  bill,  did  you?" 


198  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"No,"  said  he;  "your  brother  was  so  pressed  for  time 
that  he  signed  for  me." 

Eve  returned  the  bill  to  the  bank  messenger  sent  by  the 
Cointets. 

"We  cannot  meet  it,"  she  said;  then,  feeling  that  her 
strength  was  failing,  she  went  up  to  her  room.  David  fol- 
lowed her. 

"Go  quickly  to  the  Cointets,  dear,"  Eve  said  faintly; 
"they  will  have  some  consideration  for  you;  beg  them  to 
wait ;  and  call  their  attention,  beside,  to  the  fact  that,  when 
Cerizet's  lease  is  renewed,  they  will  owe  you  a  thousand 
francs." 

David  went  forthwith  to  his  enemies.  Now  any  foreman  may 
become  a  master  printer,  but  there  are  not  always  the  makings 
of  a  good  man  of  business  in  a  skilled  typographer ;  David 
knew  very  little  of  business ;  when,  therefore,  with  a  heavily 
beating  heart  and  a  sensation  of  throttling,  David  had  put  his 
excuses  badly  enough  and  formulated  his  request,  the  answer — 
"  This  has  nothing  to  do  with  us ;  the  bill  has  been  passed  on 
to  us  by  Metivier ;  Metivier  will  pay  us.  Apply  to  Monsieur 
Metivier" — cut  him  short  at  once. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Eve  when  she  heard  the  result,  "as  soon  as 
the  bill  is  returned  to  Monsieur  Metivier,  we  may  be  easy." 

At  two  o'clock  the  next  day  Victor-Ange-Hermenegilde 
Doublon,  bailiff,  made  protest  for  non-payment  at  two  o'clock, 
a  time  when  the  Place  du  Murier  is  full  of  people ;  so  that 
though  Doublon  was  careful  to  stand  and  chat  at  the  back 
door  with  Marion  and  Kolb,  the  news  of  the  protest  was 
known  all  over  the  business  world  of  AngoulSme  that  evening. 
Tall  Cointet  had  enjoined  it  upon  Master  Doublon  to  show 
the  Sechards  the  greatest  consideration  ;  but  when  all  was  said 
and  done,  could  the  bailiffs  hypocritical  regard  for  appear- 
ances save  Eve  and  David  from  the  disgrace  of  a  suspension 
of  payment  ?  Let  each  judge  for  himself.  A  tolerably  long 
digression  in  this  kind  will  seem  all  too  short ;  and  ninety  out 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  199 

of  every  hundred  readers  will  seize  with  avidity  upon  details 
that  possess  all  the  piquancy  of  novelty,  thus  establishing  yet 
once  again  the  truth  of  the  well-known  axiom  that  there  is 
nothing  so  little  known  as  that  which  everybody  is  supposed 
to  know — the  Law  of  the  Land  to  wit. 

And  of  a  truth,  for  the  immense  majority  of  Frenchmen,  a 
minute  description  of  some  part  of  the  machinery  of  banking 
will  be  as  interesting  as  any  chapter  of  foreign  travel.  When 
a  tradesman  living  in  one  town  gives  a  bill  to  another  trades- 
man elsewhere  (as  David  was  supposed  to  have  done  for  Lu- 
cien's  benefit),  the  transaction  ceases  to  be  a  simple  promis- 
sory note,  given  in  the  way  of  business  by  one  tradesman  to 
another  in  the  same  place,  and  becomes  in  some  sort  a  letter 
of  exchange.  When,  therefore,  Metivier  accepted  Lucien's 
three  bills,  he  was  obliged  to  send  them  for  collection  to  his 
correspondents  in  Angouldme — to  Cointet  Brothers,  that  is  to 
say.  Hence,  likewise,  a  certain  initial  loss  for  Lucien  in  ex- 
change on  Angoulgme,  taking  the  practical  shape  of  an  abate- 
ment of  so  much  per  cent,  over  and  above  the  discount.  In 
this  way  Sechard's  bills  had  passed  into  circulation  in  the  bank. 
You  would  not  believe  how  greatly  the  quality  of  banker, 
united  with  the  august  title  of  creditor,  changes  the  debtor's 
position.  For  instance,  when  a  bill  has  been  passed  through 
the  bank  (please  note  that  expression),  and  transferred  from 
the  money  market  in  Paris  to  the  financial  world  of  Angou- 
l&me,  if  that  bill  is  protested,  then  the  bankers  in  AngoulSme 
must  draw  up  a  detailed  account  of  the  expenses  of  protest  and 
return  ;  'tis  a  duty  which  they  owe  to  themselves.  Joking 
apart,  no  account  of  the  most  romantic  adventure  could  be 
more  wildly  improbable  than  this  of  the  journey  made  by  a 
bill.  Behold  a  certain  article  in  the  code  of  commerce  au- 
thorizing the  most  ingenious  pleasantries  after  Mascarille's 
manner,  and  the  interpretation  thereof  shall  make  apparent 
manifold  atrocities  lurking  beneath  the  formidable  word 
"legal." 


200  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Master  Doublon  registered  the  protest  and  went  himself 
with  it  to  MM.  Cointet  Brothers.  The  firm  had  a  standing 
account  with  their  bailiff;  he  gave  them  six  months'  credit ; 
and  the  lynxes  of  Angouleme  practically  took  a  twelvemonth, 
though  tall  Cointet  would  say  month  by  month  to  the  lynxes' 
jackal,  "  Do  you  want  any  money,  Doublon  ?  "  Nor  was  this 
all.  Doublon  gave  the  influential  house  a  rebate  upon  every 
transaction ;  it  was  the  merest  trifle,  one  franc  fifty  centimes 
on  a  protest,  for  instance. 

Tall  Cointet  quietly  seated  himself  at  his  desk  and  took  out 
a  small  sheet  of  paper  with  a  thirty-five  centime  stamp  upon 
it,  chatting  as  he  did  so  with  Doublon  as  to  the  standing  of 
some  of  the  local  tradesmen. 

"Well,  are  you  satisfied  with  young  Gannerac?" 

"He  is  not  doing  badly.  Lord,  a  carrier  drives  a 
trade " 

"  Drives  a  trade,  yes ;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  his  expenses 
are  a  heavy  pull  on  him ;  his  wife  spends  a  good  deal,  so  they 
tell  me " 

"Of  his  money?"  asked  Doublon,  with  a  very  knowing 
look. 

The  lynx  meanwhile  had  finished  ruling  his  sheet  of  paper, 
and  now  proceeded  to  trace  the  ominous  words  at  the  head 
of  the  following  account  in  bold  characters : 

ACCOUNT  OF  EXPENSES  OF  PROTEST  AND  RETURN. 

To  one  bill  for  one  thousand  francs,  bearing  date  of  February 
the  tenth,  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-two,  drawn  by  Sechard 
junior  of  Angouteme,  to  order  of  Lucien  Chardon,  otherwise 
de  Rubempre,  indorsed  to  order  of  Metivier,  and  finally  to  our 
order,  matured  the  thirtieth  of  April  last,  protested  by  Doublon, 
process-server,  on  the  first  of  May,  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty- 
two. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  201 

fr.  c. 

Principal,          .....     1000  oo 

Expenses  of  protest,   .          .         .          .          12  35 

Bank  charges,  one- half  per  cent. ,         .  5  oo 

Brokerage,  one-quarter  per  cent.,          .  2  50 

Stamp  on  redraft  and  present  account,  i  35 

Interest  and  postage,  ....  3  oo 

1024  20 
Exchange,  at  the  rate  of  one   and  a 

quarter  per  cent.,  on  1024/7.  20  c.,          13  25 


Total,     .         .1037         45 

One  thousand  and  thirty-seven  francs  forty-five  centimes,  for 
which  we  repay  ourselves  by  our  draft  at  sight  upon  M.  Meti- 
vier,  Rue  Serpente,  Paris,  payable  to  order  of  M.  Gannerac 
of  L?  Houmeau. 

COINTET  BROTHERS. 
ANGOULEME,  May  2,  1822. 

At  the  foot  of  this  little  memorandum,  drafted  with  the  ease 
that  comes  of  long  practice  (for  the  writer  chatted  with  Dou- 
blon  as  he  wrote)  there  appeared  the  subjoined  form  of 
declaration  : 

"We,  the  undersigned,  Postel  of  L'Houmeau,  pharmaceu- 
tical chemist,  and  Gannerac,  forwarding  agent,  merchants  of 
this  town,  hereby  certify  that  the  present  rate  of  exchange  on 
Paris  is  one  and  a  quarter  per  cent. 

"ANGOULEME,  May  2,   1822." 

"  Here,  Doublon,  be  so  good  as  to  step  around  and  ask 
Postel  and  Gannerac  to  put  their  names  to  this  declaration, 
and  bring  it  back  with  you  to-morrow  morning." 

And  Doublon,  quite  accustomed  as  he  was  to  these  instru- 


202  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

ments  of  torture,  forthwith  went,  as  if  it  were  the  simplest 
thing  in  the  world.  Evidently  the  protest  might  have  been 
sent  in  an  envelope,  as  in  Paris,  and  even  so  all  AngoulSme 
was  sure  to  hear  of  the  poor  Sechards'  unlucky  predicament. 
How  they  all  blamed  his  want  of  business  energy !  His 
excessive  fondness  for  his  wife  had  been  the  ruin  of  him, 
according  to  some  ;  others  maintained  that  it  was  affection 
for  his  brother-in-law;  and  what  shocking  conclusions  did 
they  not  draw  from  these  premises  ?  A  man  ought  never  to 
embrace  the  interests  of  his  kith  and  kin  !  Old  Sechard's 
hard-hearted  conduct  met  with  approval,  and  people  admired 
him  for  his  treatment  of  his  son  ! 

And  now,  all  you  who  for  any  reason  whatsoever  should 
forget  to  "honor  your  engagements,"  look  well  into  the 
methods  of  the  banking  business,  by  which  one  thousand 
francs  may  be  made  to  pay  interest  at  the  rate  of  twenty-eight 
francs  in  ten  minutes,  without  breaking  the  law  of  the  land. 

The  thousand  francs,  the  one  incontestable  item  in  the 
account,  comes  first. 

The  second  item  is  shared  between  the  bailiff  and  the  In- 
ternal Revenue  Department.  The  six  francs  due  to  the  State 
for  providing  a  piece  of  stamped  paper  and  putting  the  debt- 
or's mortification  on  record  will  probably  insure  a  long  life 
to  this  abuse  ;  and,  as  you  already  know,  one  franc  fifty  cen- 
times from  this  item  found  its  way  into  the  banker's  pockets 
in  the  shape  of  Doublon's  rebate. 

"Bank  charges,  one-half  per  cent.,"  runs  the  third  item, 
which  appears  upon  the  ingenious  plea  that,  if  a  banker  has 
not  received  payment,  he  has  for  all  practical  purposes  dis- 
counted a  bill.  And  although  the  contrary  may  be  the  case, 
if  you  fail  to  receive  a  thousand  francs,  it  seems  to  be  very 
much  the  same  thing  as  if  you  had  paid  them  away.  Every- 
body who  has  discounted  a  bill  knows  that  he  has  to  pay  more 
than  the  six  per  cent,  fixed  by  the  law ;  for  a  small  percentage 
appears  under  the  humble  title  of  "charges,"  representing  a 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  203 

premium  on  the  financial  genius  and  skill  with  which  the 
capitalist  puts  his  money  out  to  interest.  The  more  money  he 
makes  out  of  you,  the  more  he  asks.  Wherefore  it  would  be 
undoubtedly  cheaper  to  discount  a  bill  with  a  fool,  if  fools 
there  be  in  the  profession  of  bill-discounting. 

The  law  requires  the  banker  to  obtain  a  stock-broker's  cer- 
tificate for  the  rate  of  exchange.  When  a  place  is  so  unlucky 
as  to  boast  no  stock  exchange,  two  merchants  act  instead. 
This  is  the  significance  of  the  item  "  brokerage  ;  "  it  is  a 
fixed  charge  of  a  quarter  per  cent,  on  the  amount  of  the  pro- 
tested bill.  The  custom  is  to  consider  the  amount  as  paid  to 
the  merchants  who  act  for  the  stock-broker,  and  the  banker 
quietly  puts  the  money  into  his  cash-box.  So  much  for  the 
third  item  in  this  delightful  account. 

The  fourth  includes  the  cost  of  the  piece  of  stamped  paper 
on  which  the  account  itself  appears,  as  well  as  the  cost  of  the 
stamp  for  the  redraft,  as  it  is  ingeniously  named,  viz.,  the 
banker's  draft  upon  his  colleague  in  Paris. 

The  fifth  is  a  charge  for  postage  and  the  legal  interest  due 
upon  the  amount  for  the  time  that  it  may  happen  to  be  absent 
from  the  banker's  strong-box. 

The  final  item,  the  exchange,  is  the  object  for  which  the 
bank  exists,  which  is  to  say  for  the  transmission  of  sums  of 
money  from  one  place  to  another. 

Now  sift  this  account  thoroughly  and  what  do  you  find  ? 
The  method  of  calculation  closely  resembles  Polichinelle's 
arithmetic  in  Lablache's  Neapolitan  song,  "  fifteen  and  five 
make  twenty-two."  The  signatures  of  Messieurs  Postel  and 
Gannerac  were  obviously  given  to  oblige  in  the  way  of  busi- 
ness ;  the  Cointets  would  act  at  need  for  Gannerac  as  Gan- 
nerac acted  for  the  Cointets.  It  was  a  practical  application 
of  the  well-known  proverb,  "  Reach  me  the  rhubarb  and  I 
will  pass  you  the  senna."  Cointet  Brothers,  moreover,  kept 
a  standing  account  with  Metivier;  there  was  no  need  of  a  re- 
draft, and  no  redraft  was  made.  A  returned  bill  between  the 


204  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

two  firms  simply  meant  a  debit  or  credit  entry  and  another 
line  in  a  ledger. 

This  highly  colored  account,  therefore,  is  reduced  to  the 
one  thousand  francs,  with  an  additional  thirteen  francs  for 
expenses  of  protest,  and  half  per  cent,  for  a  month's  delay, 
one  thousand  and  eighteen  francs  it  may  be  in  all. 

Suppose  that  in  a  large  banking-house  a  bill  for  a  thousand 
francs  is  daily  protested  on  an  average,  then  the  banker 
receives  twenty-eight  francs  a  day  by  the  grace  of  God  and 
the  constitution  of  the  banking  system,  that  all-powerful  in- 
vention due  to  the  Jewish  intellect  of  the  Middle  Ages,  which 
after  six  centuries  still  controls  monarchs  and  peoples.  In 
other  words,  a  thousand  francs  would  bring  such  a  house 
twenty-eight  francs  per  day,  or  ten  thousand  two  hundred  and 
twenty  francs  per  annum.  Triple  the  average  of  protests,  and 
consequently  of  expenses,  and  you  shall  derive  an  income  of 
thirty  thousand  francs  per  annum,  interest  upon  purely  ficti- 
tious capital.  For  which  reason  nothing  is  more  lovingly 
cultivated  than  these  little  "  accounts  of  expenses." 

If  David  Sdchard  had  come  to  pay  his  bill  on  the  third  of 
May,  that  is,  the  day  after  it  was  protested,  MM.  Cointet 
Brothers  would  have  met  him  at  once  with,  "  We  have  re- 
turned your  bill  to  Monsieur  Metivier,"  although,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  document  would  have  still  been  lying  upon  the 
desk.  A  banker  has  a  right  to  make  out  the  account  of  ex- 
penses on  the  evening  of  the  day  when  the  bill  is  protested, 
and  he  uses  the  right  to  "sweat  the  silver  crowns,"  in  the 
country  banker's  phrase. 

The  Kellers,  with  correspondents  all  over  the  world,  make 
twenty  thousand  francs  per  annum  by  charges  for  postage 
alone  ;  accounts  of  expenses  of  protest  pay  for  Madame  la 
Baronne  de  Nucingen's  dresses,  opera  box,  and  carriage.  The 
charge  for  postage  is  a  more  shocking  swindle,  because  a 
house  will  settle  ten  matters  of  business  in  as  many  lines  of  a 
single  letter.  And  of  the  tithe  wrung  from  misfortune,  the 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  205 

government,  strange  to  say !  takes  its  share,  and  the  national 
revenue  is  swelled  by  a  tax  on  commercial  failure.  And  the 
Bank?  from  the  august  height  of  the  counting-house  she 
flings  an  observation,  full  of  commonsense,  at  the  debtor, 
"  How  is  it,"  she  asks,  "  that  you  cannot  meet  your  bill?" 
and,  unluckily,  there  is  no  reply  to  the  question.  Wherefore 
the  "account  of  expenses"  is  an  account  bristling  with 
dreadful  fictions,  fit  to  cause  any  debtor,  who  henceforth  shall 
reflect  upon  this  instructive  page,  a  salutary  shudder. 

On  the  4th  of  May,  Metivier  received  the  account  from 
Cointet  Brothers,  with  instructions  to  proceed  against  M. 
Lucien  Chardon,  otherwise  de  Rubempre,  with  the  utmost 
rigor  of  the  law. 

Eve  also  wrote  to  M.  Metivier,  and  a  few  days  later  received 
an  answer  which  reassured  her  completely : 

To  M.  Sechard  Junior,  Printer,  Angouleme. 

"  I  have  duly  received  your  esteemed  favor  of  the  5th  in- 
stant. From  your  explanation  of  the  bill  due  on  April  3oth, 
I  understand  that  you  have  obliged  your  brother-in-law,  M. 
de  Rubempre,  who  is  spending  so  much  that  it  will  be  doing 
you  a  service  to  summons  him.  His  present  position  is  such 
that  he  is  not  likely  to  delay  payment  for  long.  If  your 
brother-in-law  should  refuse  payment,  I  shall  rely  upon  the 
credit  of  your  old-established  house.  I  sign  myself  now,  as 
ever,  your  obedient  servant, 

"  MfcTIVlER." 

"Well,"  said  Eve,  commenting  upon  the  letter  to  David, 
"  Lucien  will  know  when  they  summons  him  that  we  could 
not  pay." 

What  a  change  wrought  in  Eve  those  few  words  meant ! 
The  love  that  grew  deeper  as  she  came  to  know  her  husband's 
character  better  and  better  was  taking  the  place  of  love  for 


206  LOST  ILLUSIONS, 

her  brother  in  her  heart.  But  to  how  many  illusions  had  she 
not  bade  farewell  ? 

And  now  let  us  trace  out  the  whole  history  of  the  bill  and  the 
account  of  expenses  in  the  business  world  of  Paris.  The  law 
enacts  that  the  third  holder,  the  technical  expression  for  the 
third  party  into  whose  hands  the  bill  passes,  is  at  liberty  to 
proceed  for  the  whole  amount  against  any  one  of  the  various 
indorsers  who  appears  to  him  to  be  the  most  likely  to  make 
prompt  payment.  M.  Metivier,  using  this  discretion,  served 
a  summons  upon  Lucien.  Behold  the  successive  stages  of  the 
proceedings,  all  of  them  perfectly  futile.  Metivier,  with  the 
Cointets  behind  him,  knew  that  Lucien  was  not  in  a  position 
to  pay,  but  insolvency  in  fact  is  not  insolvency  in  law  until  it 
has  been  formally  proved. 

Formal  proof  of  Lucien's  inability  to  pay  was  obtained  in  the 
following  manner : 

On  the  5th  of  May,  Metivier's  process-server  gave  Lucien 
notice  of  the  protest  and  an  account  of  the  expense  thereof, 
and  summoned  him  to  appear  before  the  Tribunal  of  Com- 
merce, or  County  Court,  of  Paris,  to  hear  a  vast  number  of 
things:  this,  among  others,  that  he  was  liable  to  imprisonment 
as  a  merchant.  By  the  time  that  Lucien,  hard  pressed  and 
hunted  down  on  all  sides,  read  this  jargon,  he  received  notice 
of  judgment  against  him  by  default.  Coralie,  his  mistress, 
ignorant  of  the  whole  matter,  imagined  that  Lucien  had 
obliged  his  brother-in-law,  and  handed  him  all  the  documents 
together — too  late.  An  actress  sees  so  much  of  bailiffs,  duns, 
and  writs  upon  the  stage  that  she  looks  on  all  stamped  paper 
as  a  farce. 

Tears  filled  Lucien's  eyes ;  he  was  unhappy  on  Sechard's 
account,  he  was  ashamed  of  the  forgery,  he  wished  to  pay,  he 
desired  to  gain  time.  Naturally  he  took  counsel  of  his  friends. 
But  by  the  time  Lousteau,  Blondet,  Bixiou,  and  Nathan  had 
told  the  poet  to  snap  his  fingers  at  a  court  only  established  for 
tradesmen,  Lucien  was  already  in  the  clutches  of  the  law.  He 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  207 

beheld  upon  his  door  the  little  yellow  placard  which  leaves  its 
reflection  on  the  porter's  countenance  and  exercises  a  most 
astringent  influence  upon  credit ;  striking  terror  into  the  heart 
of  the  smallest  tradesman,  and  freezing  the  blood  in  the  veins 
of  a  poet  susceptible  enough  to  care  about  the  bits  of  wood, 
silken  rags,  dyed  woolen  stuffs,  and  multifarious  gimcracks 
entitled  furniture. 

When  the  broker's  men  came  for  Coralie's  furniture  the 
author  of  the  "  Marguerites"  fled  to  a  friend  of  Bixiou's,  one 
Desroches,  a  barrister,  who  burst  out  laughing  at  the  sight  of 
Lucien  in  such  a  state  about  nothing  at  all. 

"That  is  nothing,  my  dear  fellow.  Do  you  want  to  gain 
time?" 

"  Yes,  as  much  as  possible." 

"  Very  well,  apply  for  stay  of  execution.  Go  and  look  up 
Masson,  he  is  a  solicitor  in  the  Commercial  Court  and  a 
friend  of  mine.  Take  your  documents  to  him.  He  will  make 
a  second  application  for  you,  and  give  notice  of  objection  to 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  court.  There  is  not  the  least  difficulty ; 
you  are  a  journalist,  your  name  is  known  well  enough.  If 
they  summons  you  before  a  civil  court  come  to  me  about  it, 
that  will  be  my  affair  ;  I  engage  to  send  anybody  who  offers 
to  annoy  the  fair  Coralie  about  his  business."  Thus  spoke 
Desroches  to  Lucien. 

On  the  28th  of  May,  Lucien's  case  came  on  in  the  civil 
court,  and  judgment  was  given  before  Desroches  expected  it. 
Lucien's  creditor  was  pushing  on  the  proceedings  against  him. 
A  second  execution  was  put  in,  and  again  Coralie's  pilasters 
were  gilded  with  placards.  Desroches  felt  rather  foolish ;  a 
colleague  had  "caught  him  napping,"  to  use  his  own  expres- 
sion. He  demurred,  not  without  reason,  that  the  furniture 
belonged  to  Mile.  Coralie,  with  whom  Lucien  was  living,  and 
demanded  an  order  for  inquiry.  Thereupon  the  judge  referred 
the  matter  to  the  registrar  for  inquiry,  the  furniture  was  proved 
to  belong  to  the  actress,  and  judgment  was  entered  accord- 


208  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

ingly.  M6tivier  appealed,  and  judgment  was  confirmed  on 
appeal  on  the  301)1  of  June. 

On  the  yth  of  August,  Master  Cachan  received  by  the 
coach  a  bulky  package  indorsed  "  Metivier  versus  Sechard 
and  Lucien  Chardon." 

The  first  document  was  a  neat  little  bill,  of  which  a  copy 
(accuracy  guaranteed)  is  here  given  for  the  reader's  benefit : 

To  Bill  due  the  last  day  of  April,  drawn  by 
S6chard  junior  to  order  of  Lucien  de  Ru- 
bempr6,  together  with  expenses  of  protest     fr.  c. 

and  return,     ......      1037  45 

May  $th — Sennng  notice  of  protest  and  sum- 
mons to  appear,  before  the  Tribunal 
of  Commerce  in  Paris,  May  ith,  8  75 

"     1th— -Judgment  by  default  and  warrant  of 

arrest,         ...  -35  °° 

"  \Qth — Notification  of  judgment,  .         .  8  50 

"  I2//& — Warrant  of  execution,     ...  5  50 

"  i^th — Inventory  and  appraisement  previous 

to  execution,         .         .         .         .         16  oo 

"  \%th — Expenses  of  affixing  placards,          .         15  25 

"  igth — Registration,  .....  4  oo 

"  2  tfh — Verification   of  inventory  and  appli- 
cation for  stay  of  execution  on  the 
part  of  the  said  Lucien  de  Rubem- 
pre,  objecting  to  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  Court,  .....          12  oo 

"  27/7* — Order  of  the  Court  upon  application 
duly  repeated,  and  transfer  of  case 
to  the  Civil  Court,  ...  35  oo 

"  2%th — Notice  of  summary  proceedings  in  the 
Civil  Court  at  the  instance  of  Me- 
tivier, represented  by  counsel,  .  6  50 

Carried  forward,         .     1183          95 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  209 

A 

Brought  forward,         .1183  95 

June  2d — Judgment,  after  hearing  both  parties, 
condemning  Lucien  Chardon  to 
pay  costs  of  suit  for  expenses  of 
protest  and  return ;  the  plaintiff 
to  bear  costs  of  proceedings  in  the 
Commercial  Court,  .  .  .150  oo 

"     6th — Notification  of  judgment,        .         .         10  oo 

"   I5//& — Warrant  of  execution,  ...  5  50 

' '  i  <)th — Inventory  and  appraisement  prepar- 
atory to  execution;  interpleader 
summons  by  the  Demoiselle  Cora- 
lie,  claiming  goods  and  chattels 
taken  in  execution ;  demand  for 
immediate  special  inquiry  before 
further  proceedings  be  taken,  .  20  oo 

"  "  —Judge's  order  referring  matter  to 
registrar  for  immediate  special 
inquiry,  .....  40  oo 

"  "  — -Judgment  in  favor  of  the  said  Made- 
moiselle Coralie,  .  .  .250  oo 

"  2Qth — Appeal  by  Metivier,        .         .         .         17  °° 

"  30/7* — Confirmation  of  judgment,      .         .       250  oo 

Total,       .         .     1926  45 

Bill  matjtred  May  $ist,  with  expenses  of  protest 

and  return,     .          .          .          .          .          .1037  45 

Serving  notice  of  protest,          ....  8  75 

Total,       .         .     1046  20 
Bill  matured  June  30^,  with  expenses  of  pro- 
test and  return,        ,         .         .         .         .1037  45 
Serving  notict  of  protest,          ....           8  75 

Total,      .        .     1046          20 
14 


210  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

This  document  was  accompanied  by  a  letter  from  Metivier, 
instructing  Master  Cachan,  notary  of  Angouleme,  to  prose- 
cute David  Sechard  with  the  utmost  rigor  of  the  law.  Where- 
fore Master  Victor-Ange-Hermenegilde  Doublon  summoned 
David  Sechard  before  the  Tribunal  of  Commerce  in  Angou- 
leme for  the  sum-total  of  four  thousand  and  eighteen  francs 
eighty-five  centimes,  the  amount  of  the  three  bills  and  ex- 
penses already  incurred.  On  the  morning  of  the  very  day 
when  Doublon  served  the  writ  upon  Eve,  requiring  her  to  pay 
a  sum  so  enormous  in  her  eyes,  there  came  a  letter  like  a 
thunderbolt  from  Metivier : 

To  Monsieur  Sechard  Junior,  Printer,  Angouleme. 

"SiR: — Your  brother-in-law,  M.  Chardon,  is  so  shamelessly 
dishonest  that  he  declares  his  furniture  to  be  the  property 
of  an  actress  with  whom  he  is  living.  You  ought  to  have 
informed  me  candidly  of  these  circumstances,  and  not  have 
allowed  me  to  go  to  useless  expense  over  law  proceedings.  I 
have  received  no  answer  to  my  letter  of  the  loth  of  May  last. 
You  must  not,  therefore,  take  it  amiss  if  I  ask  for  immediate 
repayment  of  the  three  bills  and  the  expenses  to  which  I  have 
been  put.  Yours,  etc., 

"Mfc-nviER." 

Eve  had  heard  nothing  during  these  months  and  supposed, 
in  her  ignorance  of  commercial  law,  that  her  brother  had 
made  reparation  for  his  sins  by  meeting  the  forged  bills. 

"  Be  quick,  and  go  at  once  to  Petit-Claud,  dear,"  she  said; 
"tell  him  about  it,  and  ask  his  advice." 

David  hurried  to  his  school-fellow's  office. 

"  When  you  came  to  tell  me  of  your  appointment  and 
offered  me  your  services,  I  did  not  think  that  I  should  need 
them  so  soon,"  he  said. 

Petit-Claud  studied  the  fine  face  of  this  man  who  sat  op- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  211 

posite  him  in  the  office-chair,  and  scarcely  listened  to  the 
details  of  the  case,  for  he  knew  more  of  them  already  than 
the  speaker.  As  soon  as  he  saw  Sechard' s  anxiety,  he  said 
to  himself,  "  The  trick  has  succeeded." 

This  kind  of  comedy  is  often  played  in  an  attorney's  office. 
"Why  are  the  Cointets  persecuting  him?"  Petit-Claud 
wondered  within  himself,  for  the  attorney  can  use  his  wit  to 
read  his  clients'  thoughts  as  clearly  as  the  ideas  of  their 
opponents,  and  it  is  his  business  to  see  both  sides  of  the 
judicial  web. 

"You  want  to  gain  time,"  he  said  at  last,  when  Sechard 
had  come  to  an  end.  "How  long  do  you  want?  Some- 
thing like  three  or  four  months?" 

"Oh  !  four  months  !  that  would  be  my  salvation,"  exclaimed 
David.  Petit-Claud  appeared  to  him  as  an  angel. 

"Very  well.  No  one  shall  lay  hands  on  any  of  your  furni- 
ture, and  no  one  shall  arrest  you  for  four  months But  it 

will  cost  you  a  good  deal,"  said  Petit-Claud. 

"  Eh  !  what  does  that  matter  to  me  ?  "  cried  Sechard. 

"You  are  expecting  some  money  to  come  in;  but  are  you 
sure  of  it?"  asked  Petit-Claud,  astonished  at  the  way  in 
which  his  client  walked  into  the  toils. 

"In  three  months'  time  I  shall  have  plenty  of  money," 
said  the  sanguine  inventor,  with  an  inventor's  hopeful  con- 
fidence. 

"  Your  father  is  still  above  ground,"  suggested  Petit-Claud  ; 
"he  is  in  no  hurry  to  leave  his  vines." 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  am  counting  on  my  father's  death?" 
returned  David.  "  I  am  on  the  track  of  a  trade  secret,  the 
secret  of  making  a  sheet  of  paper  as  strong  as  Dutch  paper, 
without  a  thread  of  cotton  in  it,  and  at  a  cost  of  fifty  per  cent, 
less  than  cotton  pulp." 

"  There  is  a  fortune  in  that  !  "  exclaimed  Petit-Claud.  He 
knew  now  what  the  tall  Cointet  meant. 

"  A  large  fortune,   my  friend,  for  in  ten  years'  time  the 


212  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

demand  for  paper  will  be  ten  times  larger  than  it  is  to-day. 
Journalism  will  be  the  craze  of  our  day." 

"  Nobody  knows  your  secret?  " 

"  Nobody  except  my  wife." 

"You  have  not  told  any  one  what  you  mean  to  do — the 
Cointets,  for  example  ?  " 

"  I  did  say  something  about  it,  but  in  general  terms,  I 
think." 

A  sudden  spark  of  generosity  flashed  through  Petit-Claud's 
rancorous  soul ;  he  tried  to  reconcile  Sechard's  interests  with 
the  Cointets'  projects  and  his  own. 

"Listen,  David,  we  are  old  school-fellows,  you  and  I;  I 
will  fight  your  case  ;  but  understand  this  clearly — the  defense, 
in  the  teeth  of  the  law,  will  cost  you  five  or  six  thousand 
francs  !  Do  not  compromise  your  prospects.  I  think  you 
will  be  compelled  to  share  the  profits  of  your  invention  with 
some  one  of  our  paper  manufacturers.  Let  us  see  now.  You 
will  think  twice  before  you  buy  or  build  a  paper-mill ;  and, 
beside,  there  is  the  cost  of  the  patent.  All  this  means  time, 
and  money  too.  The  servers  of  writs  will  be  down  upon  you 
too  soon,  perhaps,  although  we  are  going  to  give  them  the 
slip " 

"I  have  my  secret,"  said  David,  with  the  simplicity  of  the 
man  of  books. 

"  Well  and  good,  your  secret  will  be  your  plank  of  safety," 
said  Petit-Claud  ;  his  first  loyal  intention  of  avoiding  a  lawsuit 
by  a  compromise  was  frustrated.  "I  do  not  wish  to  know  it ; 
but  mind  this  that  I  tell  you.  Work  in  the  bowels  of  the 
earth  if  you  can,  so  that  no  one  may  watch  you  and  gain  a 
hint  from  your  ways  of  working,  or  your  plank  will  be  stolen 
from  under  your  feet.  An  inventor  and  a  simpleton  often 
live  in  the  same  skin.  Your  mind  runs  so  much  on  your 
secrets  that  you  cannot  think  of  everything.  People  will 
begin  to  have  their  suspicions  at  last,  and  the  place  is  full  of 
paper  manufacturers.  So  many  manufacturers,  so  many  ene- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  213 

mies  for  you !  You  are  like  a  beaver  with  the  hunters  about 
you ;  do  not  give  them  your  skin " 

"Thank  you,  dear  fellow,  I  have  told  myself  all  this," 
exclaimed  Secbard,  "  but  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  showing  so 
much  concern  for  me  and  for  your  forethought.  It  does  not 
really  matter  to  me  myself.  An  income  of  twelve  hundred 
francs  would  be  enough  for  me,  and  my  father  ought  by  rights 
to  leave  me  three  times  as  much  some  day.  Love  and  thought 
make  up  my  life — a  divine  life.  I  am  working  for  Lucien's 
sake  and  for  my  wife's." 

"  Come,  give  me  this  power-of-attorney,  and  think  of 
nothing  but  your  discovery.  If  there  should  be  any  danger 
of  arrest  I  will  let  you  know  in  time,  for  we  must  think  of  all 
possibilities.  And  let  me  tell  you  again  to  allow  no  one  of 
whom  you  are  not  as  sure  as  you  are  of  yourself  to  come  into 
your  place." 

"  Cerizet  did  not  care  to  continue  the  lease  of  the  plant 
and  premises,  hence  our  little  money  difficulties.  We  have 
no  one  at  home  now  but  Marion  and  Kolb,  an  Alsacien  as 
trusty  as  a  dog,  and  my  wife  and  her  mother " 


"  One  word,"  said  Petit-Claud,  "don't  trust  that  dog- 


"  You  do  not  know  him,"  exclaimed  David ;  "he  is  like  a 
second  self." 

"May  I  try  him?" 

"Yes,"  said  Sechard. 

"There,  good-by,  but  send  Madame  Sechard  to  me;  I 
must  have  a  power-of-attorney  from  your  wife.  And  bear  in 
mind,  my  friend,  that  there  is  a  fire  burning  in  your  affairs," 
said  Petit-Claud,  by  way  of  warning  of  all  the  troubles  gath- 
ering in  the  law  courts  to  burst  upon  David's  head. 

"  Here  am  I  with  one  foot  in  Burgundy  and  the  other  in 
Champagne,"  he  added  to  himself  as  he  closed  the  office- 
door  on  David. 

Harassed  by  money  difficulties,  beset  with  fears  for  his 
wife's  health,  stung  to  the  quick  by  Lucien's  disgrace,  David 


214  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

had  worked  on  at  his  problem.  He  had  been  trying  to  find 
a  single  process  to  replace  the  various  operations  of  pounding 
and  maceration  to  which  all  flax  or  cotton  or  rags,  any  veg- 
etable fibre,  in  fact,  must  be  subjected ;  and,  as  he  went  to 
Petit-Claud's  office,  he  abstractedly  chewed  a  bit  of  nettle- 
stalk  that  had  been  steeping  in  water.  On  his  way  home, 
tolerably  satisfied  with  his  interview,  he  felt  a  little  pellet 
sticking  between  his  teeth.  He  laid  it  on  his  hand,  flattened 
it  out,  and  saw  that  the  pulp  was  far  superior  to  any  previous 
result.  The  want  of  cohesion  is  the  great  drawback  of  all 
vegetable  fibre;  straw,  for  instance,  yields  a  very  brittle 
paper,  which  may  almost  be  called  metallic  and  resonant. 
These  chances  only  befall  bold  inquirers  into  nature's 
methods ! 

"Now,"  said  he  to  himself,  "I  must  contrive  to  do  by 
machinery  and  some  chemical  agency  the  thing  that  I  myself 
have  done  unconsciously." 

When  his  wife  saw  him,  his  face  was  radiant  with  belief  in 
victory.  There  were  traces  of  tears  in  Eve's  face. 

"Oh!  my  darling,  do  not  trouble  yourself;  Petit-Claud 
will  guarantee  that  we  shall  not  be  molested  for  several 
months  to  come.  There  will  be  a  good  deal  of  expense  over 
it ;  but,  as  Petit-Claud  said  when  he  came  to  the  door  with 
me,  'A  Frenchman  has  a  right  to  keep  his  creditors  waiting, 
provided  he  repays  them  capital,  interest,  and  costs.'  Very 
well,  then,  we  shall  do  that " 

"And  live  meanwhile?  "  asked  poor  Eve,  who  thought  of 
everything. 

"Ah!  that  is  true,"  said  David,  carrying  his  hand  to 
his  ear  after  the  unaccountable  fashion  of  most  perplexed 
mortals. 

"  Mother  will  look  after  little  Lucien,  and  I  can  go  back 
to  work  again,"  said  she. 

"  Eve  !  oh,  my  Eve  !  "  exclaimed  David,  holding  his  wife 
closely  to  him.  "At  Saintes,  not  very  far  from  here,  in  the 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  215 

sixteenth  century,  there  lived  one  of  the  very  greatest  of 
Frenchmen,  for  he  was  not  merely  the  inventor  of  glaze,  he 
was  the  glorious  precursor  of  Buffon  and  Cuvier  beside ;  he 
was  the  first  geologist,  good  simple  soul  that  he  was.  Bernard 
Palissy  endured  the  martyrdom  appointed  for  all  seekers  into 
secrets,  but  his  wife  and  children  and  all  his  neighbors  were 
against  him.  His  wife  used  to  sell  his  tools  ;  nobody  under- 
stood him,  he  wandered  about  the  countryside,  he  was  hunted 
down,  they  jeered  at  him.  But  I — I  am  loved " 

"  Dearly  loved  !  "  said  Eve,  with  the  quiet  serenity  of  the 
love  that  is  sure  of  itself. 

"And  so  may  well  endure  all  that  poor  Bernard  Palissy 
suffered — Bernard  Palissy,  the  discoverer  of  Ecouen  ware,  the 
Huguenot  excepted  by  Charles  IX.  on  the  day  of  Saint-Bar- 
tholomew. He  lived  to  be  rich  and  honored  in  his  old  age, 
and  lectured  on  the  '  Science  of  Earths,'  as  he  called  it,  in 
the  face  of  Europe." 

"  So  long  as  my  fingers  can  hold  an  iron,  you  shall  want 
for  nothing,"  cried  the  poor  wife,  in  tones  that  told  of  the 
deepest  devotion.  "  When  I  was  Madame  Prieur's  forewoman 
I  had  a  friend  among  the  girls,  Basine  Clerget,  a  cousin  of 
Postel's,  a  very  good  child  ;  well,  Basine  told  me  the  other 
day  when  she  brought  back  the  linen  that  she  was  taking 
Madame  Prieur's  business  ;  I  will  work  for  her." 

"  Ah  !  you  shall  not  work  there  for  long,"  said  David ;  "I 
have  found  out " 

Eve,  watching  his  face,  saw  the  sublime  belief  in  success 
which  sustains  the  inventor,  the  belief  that  gives  him  courage 
to  go  forth  into  the  virgin  forests  of  the  country  of  Discovery ; 
and,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  answered  that  confident 
look  with  a  half-sad  smile.  David  bent  his  head  mournfully. 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  !  I  am  not  laughing  !  I  did  not  doubt ! 
It  was  not  a  sneer  !  "  cried  Eve  on  her  knees  before  her  hus- 
band. "  But  I  see  plainly  now  that  you  were  right  to  tell 
me  nothing  about  your  experiments  and  your  hopes.  Ah ! 


216  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

yes,  dear,  an  inventor  should  endure  the  long  painful  travail 
of  a  great  idea  alone,  he  should  not  utter  a  word  of  it  even  to 
his  wife.  A  woman  is  a  woman  still.  This  Eve  of  yours 
could  not  help  smiling  when  she  heard  you  say  '  I  have  found 
out,'  for  the  seventeenth  time  this  month." 

David  burst  out  laughing  so  heartily  at  his  own  expense 
that  Eve  caught  his  hand  in  hers  and  kissed  it  reverently.  It 
was  a  delicious  moment  for  them  both,  one  of  those  roses  of 
love  and  tenderness  that  grow  beside  the  desert  paths  of  the 
bitterest  poverty,  nay,  at  times  in  yet  darker  depths. 

As  the  storm  of  misfortune  grew,  Eve's  courage  redoubled ; 
the  greatness  of  her  husband's  nature,  his  inventor's  simpli- 
city, the  tears  that  now  and  again  she  saw  in  the  eyes  of  this 
dreamer  of  dreams  with  the  tender  heart — all  these  things 
aroused  in  her  an  unsuspected  energy  of  resistance.  Once 
again  she  tried  the  plan  that  had  succeeded  so  well  already. 
She  wrote  to  M.  Metivier,  reminding  him  that  the  printing- 
office  was  for  sale,  offered  to  pay  him  out  of  the  proceeds,  and 
begged  him  not  to  ruin  David  with  needless  costs.  Metivier 
received  the  heroic  letter,  and  shammed  dead.  His  head 
clerk  replied  that  in  the  absence  of  M.  Metivier  he  could  not 
take  it  upon  himself  to  stay  proceedings,  for  his  employer  had 
made  it  a  rule  to  let  the  law  take  its  course.  Eve  wrote 
again,  offering  this  time  to  renew  the  bills  and  pay  all  the 
costs  hitherto  incurred.  To  this  the  clerk  consented,  pro- 
vided that  Sechard  senior  guaranteed  payment.  So  Eve 
walked  over  to  Marsac,  taking  Kolb  and  her  mother  with  her. 
She  braved  the  old  vine-dresser,  and  so  charming  was  she 
that  the  old  man's  face  relaxed  and  the  puckers  smoothed 
out  at  the  sight  of  her ;  but  when,  with  inward  quakings,  she 
came  to  speak  of  a  guarantee,  she  beheld  a  sudden  and  com- 
plete change  of  the  tipple-ographic  countenance. 

"  If  I  allowed  my  son  to  put  his  hand  to  the  lips  of  my 
cash-box  whenever  he  had  a  mind,  he  would  plunge  it  deep 
into  the  vitals,  he  would  take  all  I  have  !  "  cried  old  Sechard. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  217 

"  That  is  the  way  with  children ;  they  eat  up  their  parents' 
purse.  What  did  I  do  myself,  eh  ?  /  never  cost  my  parents 
a  farthing.  Your  printing-office  is  standing  idle.  The  rats 
and  the  mice  do  all  the  printing  that  is  done  in  it.  You 
have  a  pretty  face  ;  I  am  very  fond  of  you  ;  you  are  a  careful, 
hard-working  woman  ;  but  that  son  of  mine  !  Do  you  know 
what  David  is?  I'll  tell  you — he  is  a  scholar  that  will  never 
do  a  stroke  of  work  !  If  I  had  reared  him,  as  I  was  reared 
myself,  without  knowing  his  letters,  and  if  I  had  made  a 
'  bear '  of  him,  like  his  father  before  him,  he  would  have 
money  saved  and  put  out  at  interest  by  now.  Oh  !  he  is  my 
cross,  that  fellow  is,  look  you  !  And,  unluckily,  he  is  all  the 
family  I  have,  for  there  is  never  like  to  be  a  later  edition. 
And  then  he  makes  you  unhappy " 

Eve  protested  with  a  vehement  gesture  of  denial. 

"Yes,  he  does,"  affirmed  old  Sechard  ;  "you  had  to  find 
a  wet-nurse  for  the  child.  Come,  come,  I  know  all  about  it, 
you  are  in  the  county  court,  and  the  whole  town  is  talking 
about  you.  I  was  only  a  '  bear,'  /  have  no  book-learning,  / 
was  not  foreman  at  the  Didots',  the  first  printers  in  the  world  ; 
but  yet  I  never  set  eyes  on  a  bit  of  stamped  paper.  Do  you 
know  what  I  say  to  myself  as  I  go  to  and  fro  among  my  vines, 
looking  after  them  and  getting  in  my  vintage,  and  doing  my 
bits  of  business  ?  I  say  to  myself,  '  You  are  taking  a  lot  of 
trouble,  poor  old  chap ;  working  to  pile  one  silver  crown  on 
another,  you  will  leave  a  fine  property  behind  you,  and  the 
bailiffs  and  the  lawyers  will  get  it  all ;  or  else  it  will  go  in 
nonsensical  notions  and  crotchets.'  Look  you  here,  child; 
you  are  the  mother  of  yonder  little  lad  ;  it  seemed  to  me  as  I 
held  him  at  the  font  with  Madame  Chardon  that  I  could  see 
his  old  grandfather's  copper  nose  on  his  face  ;  very  well,  think 
less  of  Sechard  and  more  of  that  little  rascal.  I  can  trust  no 
one  but  you ;  you  will  prevent  him  from  squandering  my 
property — my  poor  property." 

"  But,  dear  Papa  Sechard,  your  son  will  be  a  credit  to  you, 


218  LOST  ILLUSIONS, 

you  will  see ;  he  will  make  money  and  be  a  rich  man  one  of 
these  days,  and  wear  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  at  his 
button-hole." 

"  What  is  he  going  to  do  to  get  it  ?  " 

"You  will  see.  But  meanwhile,  would  a  thousand  crowns 
ruin  you?  A  thousand  crowns  would  put  an  end  to  the  pro- 
ceedings. Well,  if  you  cannot  trust  him,  lend  the  money  to 
me ;  I  will  pay  it  back ;  you  could  make  it  a  charge  on  my 
portion,  on  my  earnings " 

"  Then  has  some  one  brought  David  into  a  court  of  law  ?  " 
cried  the  vine-dresser,  amazed  to  find  that  the  gossip  was  really 
true.  "  See  what  comes  of  knowing  how  to  write  your  name! 
And  how  about  my  rent !  Oh !  little  girl,  I  must  go  to 
Angoul&me  at  once  and  ask  Cachan's  advice,  and  see  that  I 
am  straight.  You  did  right  well  to  come  over.  Forewarned 
is  forearmed." 

After  two  hours  of  argument  Eve  was  fain  to  go,  defeated 
by  the  unanswerable  dictum,  "  Women  never  understand  busi- 
ness." She  had  come  with  a  faint  hope,  she  went  back  again 
almost  heart-broken,  and  reached  home  just  in  time  to  receive 
notice  of  judgment;  Sechard  must  pay  Metivier  in  full.  The 
appearance  of  a  bailiff  at  a  house-door  is  an  event  in  a  country 
town,  and  Doublon  had  come  far  too  often  of  late.  The 
whole  neighborhood  was  talking  about  the  Sechards.  Eve 
dared  not  leave  her  house ;  she  dreaded  to  hear  the  whispers 
as  she  passed. 

"  Oh  !  my  brother,  my  brother !  "  cried  poor  Eve,  as  she 
hurried  into  the  passage  and  up  the  stairs,  "  I  can  never  for- 
give you,  unless  it  was " 

"Alas!  it  was  that  or  suicide,"  said  David,  who  had  fol- 
lowed her. 

"Let  us  say  no  more  about  it,"  she  said  quietly.  "The 
woman  who  dragged  him  down  into  the  depths  of  Paris  has 
much  to  answer  for;  and  your  father,  my  David,  is  quite 
inexorable  !  Let  us  bear  it  in  silence." 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  219 

A  discreet  rapping  at  the  door  cut  short  some  word  of  love 
on  David's  lips.  Marion  appeared,  towing  the  big,  burly 
Kolb  after  her  across  the  outer  room. 

"Madame,"  said  Marion,  "we  have  known,  Kolb  and  I, 
that  you  and  the  master  were  very  much  put  about ;  and,  as 
we  have  eleven  hundred  francs  of  savings  between  us,  we 
thought  we  could  not  do  better  than  put  them  in  the  mistress' 
hands " 

"  Der  misdress,"  echoed  Kolb  fervently. 

"  Kolb,"  cried  David,  "you  and  I  will  never  part.  Pay  a 
thousand  francs  on  account  to  Master  Cachan,  and  take  a 
receipt  for  it;  we  will  keep  the  rest.  And,  Kolb,  no  power 
on  earth  must  extract  a  word  from  you  as  to  my  work,  or  my 
absences  from  home,  or  the  things  you  may  see  me  bring  back; 
and  if  I  send  you  to  look  for  plants  for  me,  you  know,  no 
human  being  must  set  eyes  on  you.  They  will  try  to  corrupt 
you,  my  good  Kolb ;  they  will  offer  you  thousands,  perhaps 
tens  of  thousands  of  francs,  to  tell " 

"  Dey  may  offer  me  millions,"  cried  Kolb,  "but  not  ein 
vort  from  me  shall  dey  traw.  Haf  I  not  peen  in  der  army, 
and  know  my  orders?" 

"  Well,  you  are  warned.  March,  and  ask  Monsieur  Petit- 
Claud  to  go  with  you  as  witness." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Alsacien.  "Some  tay  I  hope  to  be  rich 
enough  to  dust  der  chacket  of  dat  man  of  law.  I  don't  like 
his  gountenance." 

"Kolb  is  a  good  man,  madame,"  said  big  Marion  ;  "he  is 
as  strong  as  a  Turk  and  as  meek  as  a  lamb.  Just  the  one 
that  would  make  a  woman  happy.  It  was  his  notion,  too, 
to  invest  our  savings  this  way — '  safings,'  as  he  calls  them. 
Poor  man,  if  he  doesn't  speak  right,  he  thinks  right,  and  I 
understand  him  all  the  same.  He  has  a  notion  of  working 
for  somebody  else,  so  as  to  save  us  his  keep " 

"Surely  we  shall  be  rich,  if  it  is  only  to  repay  these  good 
folk,"  said  David,  looking  at  his  wife. 


220  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Eve  thought  it  quite  simple ;  it  was  no  surprise  to  her  to 
find  other  natures  on  a  level  with  her  own.  The  dullest — 
nay,  the  most  indifferent — observer  could  have  seen  all  the 
beauty  of  her  nature  in  her  way  of  receiving  this  service. 

"You  will  be  rich  some  day,  dear  master,"  said  Marion; 
"  your  bread  is  ready  baked.  Your  father  has  just  bought  an- 
other farm,  he  is  putting  by  money  for  you ;  that  he  is." 

And,  under  the  circumstances,  did  not  Marion  show  an 
exquisite  delicacy  of  feeling  by  belittling,  as  it  were,  her  kind- 
ness in  this  way? 

French  procedure,  like  all  things  human,  has  its  defects; 
nevertheless,  the  sword  of  justice,  being  a  two-edged  weapon, 
is  excellently  adapted  alike  for  attack  or  defense.  Procedure, 
moreover,  has  its  amusing  side ;  for  when  opposed  lawyers 
arrive  at  an  understanding,  as  they  well  may  do,  without  ex- 
changing a  word,  through  their  manner  of  conducting  their 
case,  a  suit  becomes  a  kind  of  war  waged  on  the  lines  laid 
down  by  the  first  Marshal  Biron,  who,  at  the  siege  of  Rouen, 
it  may  be  remembered,  received  his  son's  project  for  taking 
the  city  in  two  days  with  the  remark,  "You  must  be  in  a 
great  hurry  to  go  and  plant  cabbages !  ' '  Let  two  com- 
manders-in-chief  spare  their  troops  as  much  as  possible,  let 
them  imitate  the  Austrian  generals  who  give  the  men  time  to 
eat  their  soup  though  they  fail  to  effect  a  juncture,  and  escape 
reprimand  from  the  Aulic  Council ;  let  them  avoid  all  decisive 
measures,  and  they  shall  carry  on  a  war  for  ever.  Cachan, 
Petit-Claud,  and  Doublon  did  better  than  the  Austrian  gen- 
erals ;  they  took  for  their  example  Quintus  Fabius  Cunctator 
— the  Austrian  of  antiquity. 

Petit-Claud,  malignant  as  a  mule,  was  not  long  in  finding 
out  all  the  advantages  of  his  position.  No  sooner  had  Boni- 
face Cointet  guaranteed  his  costs  than  he  vowed  to  lead 
Cachan  a  dance,  and  to  dazzle  the  oaper  manufacturer  with  a 
brilliant  display  of  genius  in  thf  creation  of  items  to  be 
charged  to  M6tivier.  Unluckily  ror  the  fame  of  the  young 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  221 

forensic  Figaro,  the  writer  of  this  history  is  obliged  to  pass 
over  the  scene  of  his  exploits  in  as  great  a  hurry  as  if  he  trod 
on  burning  coals ;  but  a  single  bill  of  costs,  in  the  shape  of 
the  specimen  sent  from  Paris,  will  no  doubt  suffice  for  the 
student  of  contemporary  manners.  Let  us  follow  the  example 
set  us  by  the  Bulletins  of  the  Grande  Armee,  and  give  a  summary 
of  Petit-Claud's  valiant  feats  and  exploits  in  the  province  of 
pure  law;  they  will  be  the  better  appreciated  for  concise 
treatment. 

David  Sechard  was  summoned  before  the  Tribunal  of  Com- 
merce at  AngoulSme  for  the  3d  of  July,  made  default,  and 
notice  of  judgment  was  served  on  the  8th.  On  the  loth, 
Doublon  obtained  an  execution  warrant,  and  attempted  to  put 
in  an  execution  on  the  i2th.  On  this  Petit-Claud  applied  for 
an  interpleader  summons  and  served  notice  on  Metivier  for 
that  day  fortnight.  M6tivier  made  application  for  a  hearing 
without  delay,  and  on  the  ipth  Sechard's  application  was  dis- 
missed. Hard  upon  this  followed  notice  of  judgment,  author- 
izing the  issue  of  an  execution  warrant  on  the  226,  a  warrant 
of  arrest  on  the  23d,  and  bailiff's  inventory  previous  to  the 
execution  on  the  24th.  Metivier,  Doublon,  Cachan  &  Com- 
pany were  proceeding  at  this  furious  pace,  when  Petit-Claud 
suddenly  pulled  them  up,  and  stayed  execution  by  lodging 
notice  of  appeal  to  the  Court-Royal.  Notice  of  appeal,  duly 
reiterated  on  the  25th  of  July,  drew  Metivier  off  to  Poitiers. 

"Come!"  said  Petit-Claud  to  himself,  "there  we  are 
likely  to  stop  for  some  time  to  come." 

No  sooner  was  the  storm  passed  over  to  Poitiers,  and  an 
attorney  practicing  in  the  Court-Royal  instructed  to  defend 
the  case,  then  Petit-Claud,  a  champion  facing  both  ways, 
made  application  in  Mme.  Sechard's  name  for  the  immediate 
separation  of  her  estate  from  her  husband's;  using  "all  dili- 
gence "  (in  legal  language)  to  such  purpose  that  he  obtained 
an  order  from  the  court  on  the  28th,  and  inserted  notice 
at  once  in  the  "  Charente  Courier."  Now  David  the  lover 


222  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

had  settled  ten  thousand  francs  upon  his  wife  in  the  marriage- 
contract,  making  over  to  her  as  security  the  fixtures  of  the 
printing-office  and  the  household  furniture  ;  and  Petit-Claud 
therefore  constituted  Mme.  Sechard  her  husband's  creditor 
for  that  small  amount,  drawing  up  a  statement  of  her  claims 
on  the  estate  in  the  presence  of  a  notary  on  the  ist  of  August. 

While  Petit-Claud  was  busy  securing  the  household  prop- 
erty of  his  clients,  he  gained  the  day  at  Poitiers  on  the  point 
of  law  on  which  the  demurrer  and  appeal  were  based.  He 
held  that,  as  the  Court  of  the  Seine  had  ordered  the  plaintiff 
to  pay  costs  of  proceedings  in  the  Paris  commercial  court, 
David  was  so  much  the  less  liable  for  expenses  of  litigation 
incurred  upon  Lucien's  account.  The  Court-Royal  took  this 
view  of  the  case,  and  judgment  was  entered  accordingly. 
David  Sechard  was  ordered  to  pay  the  amount  in  dispute  in 
the  Angoul&me  Court,  less  the  law  expenses  incurred  in  Paris ; 
these  Metivier  must  pay,  and  each  side  must  bear  their  own 
costs  in  the  appeal  to  the  Court-Royal. 

David  S6chard  was  duly  notified  of  the  result  on  the  lyth 
of  August.  On  the  i8th  the  judgment  took  the  practical 
shape  of  an  order  to  pay  capital,  interest,  and  costs,  followed 
up  by  notice  of  an  execution  for  the  morrow.  Upon  this 
Petit-Claud  intervened  and  put  in  a  claim  for  the  furniture  as 
the  wife's  property  duly  separated  from  her  husband's  ;  and, 
what  was  more,  Petit-Claud  produced  Sechard  senior  upon 
the  scene  of  action.  The  old  vine-grower  had  become  his 
client  on  this  wise :  He  came  to  Angoulfrne  on  the  day  after 
Eve's  visit,  and  went  to  Master  Cachan  for  advice.  His  son 
owed  him  arrears  of  rent ;  how  could  he  come  by  his  rent  in 
the  scrimmage  in  which  his  son  was  engaged  ? 

"  I  am  engaged  by  the  other  side,"  pronounced  Cachan, 
"  and  I  cannot  appear  for  the  father  when  I  am  suing  the 
son  ;  but  go  to  Petit-Claud,  he  is  very  clever,  he  may  perhaps 
do  even  better  for  you  than  I  should  do." 

Cachan  and  Petit-Claud  met  at  the  Court. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  228 

"I  have  sent  you  S6chard  senior,"  said  Cachan  ;  "take 
the  case  forme  in  exchange."  Lawyers  do  each  other  services 
of  this  kind  in  country  towns  as  well  as  in  Paris. 

The  day  after  Sechard  senior  gave  Petit-Claud  his  confi- 
dence, the  tall  Cointet  paid  a  visit  to  his  confederate. 

"Try  to  give  old  Sechard  a  lesson,"  he  said.  "  He  is  the 
kind  of  man  that  will  never  forgive  his  son  for  costing  him  a 
thousand  francs  or  so  ;  the  outlay  will  dry  up  any  generous 
thoughts  in  his  mind,  if  he  ever  has  any." 

"Go  back  to  your  vines,"  said  Petit-Claud  to  his  new 
client.  "  Your  son  is  not  very  well  off;  do  not  eat  him  out 
of  house  and  home.  I  will  send  for  you  when  the  time 
comes." 

On  behalf  of  Sechard  senior,  therefore,  Petit-Claud  claimed 
that  the  presses,  being  fixtures,  were  so  much  the  more  to  be  re- 
garded as  tools  and  implements  of  trade,  and  the  less  liable  to 
seizure,  in  that  the  house  had  been  a  printing-office  since  the 
reign  of  Louis  XIV.  Cachan,  on  M6tivier's  account,  waxed 
indignant  at  this.  In  Paris  Lucien's  furniture  had  belonged  to 
Coralie,  and  here  again  in  Angouldme  David's  goods  and 
chattels  all  belonged  to  his  wife  or  his  father;  pretty  things 
were  said  in  court.  Father  and  son  were  summoned  ;  such 
claims  could  not  be  allowed  to  stand. 

"  We  mean  to  unmask  the  frauds  intrenched  behind  bad 
faith  of  the  most  formidable  kind  ;  here  is  the  defense  of  dis- 
honesty bristling  with  the  plainest  and  most  innocent  articles 
of  the  Code,  and  why?  to  avoid  repayment  of  three  thousand 
francs  ;  obtained  how?  from  poor  M6tivier's  cash-box.  And 
yet  there  are  those  who  dare  to  say  a  word  against  bill-dis- 
counters !  What  times  we  live  in  !  Now,  I  put  it  to  you — 
what  is  this  but  taking  your  neighbor's  money?  You  will  not 
surely  sanction  a  claim  which  would  bring  immorality  to  the 
very  core  of  justice  !  " 

Cachan's  eloquence  produced  an  effect  on  the  court.  A 
divided  judgment  was  given  in  favor  of  Mme.  S6chard,  the 


224  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

house-furniture  being  held  to  be  her  property ;  and  against 
S6chard  senior,  who  was  ordered  to  pay  costs — four  hundred 
and  thirty-four  francs  sixty-five  centimes. 

"It  is  kind  of  old  Sechard,"  laughed  the  lawyers;  "  he 
would  have  a  finger  in  the  pie,  so  let  him  pay!  " 

Notice  of  judgment  was  given  on  the  26th  of  August ;  the 
presses  and  plant  could  be  seized  on  the  28th.  Placards  were 
posted.  Application  was  made  for  an  order  empowering  them 
to  sell  on  the  spot.  Announcements  of  the  sale  appeared  in 
the  papers,  and  Doublon  flattered  himself  that  the  inventory 
should  be  verified  and  the  auction  take  place  on  the  2d  of 
September. 

By  this  time  David  S6chard  owed  M6tivier  five  thousand 
two  hundred  and  seventy-five  francs  twenty-five  centimes  (to 
say  nothing  of  interest),  by  formal  judgment  confirmed  by 
appeal,  the  bill  of  costs  having  been  duly  taxed.  Likewise  to 
Petit-Claud  he  owed  twelve  hundred  francs,  exclusive  of  the 
fees,  which  were  left  to  David's  generosity  with  the  generous 
confidence  displayed  by  the  hackney  coachman  who  has 
driven  you  so  quickly  over  the  road  on  which  you  desire 
to  go. 

Mme.  S6chard  owed  Petit-Claud  something  like  three  hun- 
dred and  fifty  francs  and  fees  beside;  and  of  old  Sechard,  be- 
side four  hundred  and  thirty-four  francs  sixty-five  centimes, 
the  little  attorney  demanded  a  hundred  crowns  by  way  of  fee. 
Altogether,  the  Sechard  family  owed  about  ten  thousand 
francs.  This  is  what  is  called  "  putting  fire  into  the  bed- 
straw." 

Apart  from  the  utility  of  these  documents  to  other  nations 
who  thus  may  behold  the  battery  of  French  law  in  action,  the 
French  legislator  ought  to  know  the  lengths  to  which  the 
abuse  of  procedure  may  be  carried,  always  supposing  that  the 
said  legislator  can  find  time  for  reading.  Surely  some  sort 
of  regulation  might  be  devised,  some  way  of  forbidding  law- 
yers to  carry  on  a  case  until  the  sum  in  dispute  is  more  than 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  22o 

eaten  up  in  costs.  Is  there  not  something  ludicrous  in  the 
idea  of  submitting  a  square  yard  of  soil  and  an  estate  of 
thousands  of  acres  to  the  same  legal  formalities?  These  bare 
outlines  of  the  history  of  the  various  stages  of  procedure  should 
open  the  eyes  of  Frenchmen  to  the  meaning  of  the  words 
"legal  formalities,  justice,  and  costs,"  little  as  the  immense 
majority  of  the  nation  know  about  them. 

Five  thousand  pounds'  weight  of  type  in  the  printing-office 
were  worth  two  thousand  francs  as  old  metal ;  the  three  presses 
were  valued  at  six  hundred  francs ;  the  rest  of  the  plant  would 
fetch  the  price  of  old  iron  and  firewood.  The  household  fur- 
niture would  have  brought  in  a  thousand  francs  at  most. 
The  whole  personal  property  of  Sechard  junior,  therefore,  rep- 
resented the  sum  of  four  thousand  francs ;  and  Cachan  and 
Petit-Claud  made  claims  for  seven  thousand  francs  in  costs 
already  incurred  ;  to  say  nothing  of  expenses  to  come,  for  the 
blossom  gave  promise  of  fine  fruits  enough,  as  the  reader  will 
shortly  see.  Surely  the  lawyers  of  France  and  Navarre,  nay, 
even  of  Normandy  herself,  will  not  refuse  Petit-Claud  his  meed 
of  admiration  and  respect?  Surely,  too,  kind  hearts  will  give 
Marion  and  Kolb  a  tear  of  sympathy? 

All  through  the  war  Kolb  sat  on  a  chair  in  the  doorway, 
acting  as  watch-dog,  when  David  had  nothing  else  for  him 
to  do.  It  was  Kolb  who  received  all  the  notifications,  and  a 
clerk  of  Petit-Claud's  kept  watch  over  Kolb.  No  sooner  were 
the  placards  announcing  the  auction  put  up  on  the  premises 
than  Kolb  tore  them  down  ;  he  hurried  around  the  town  after 
the  bill-poster,  tearing  the  placards  from  the  walls. 

"Ah,  scountrels  !  "  he  cried,  "  to  dorment  so  goot  a  man  ; 
und  they  calls  it  chustice  !  " 

Marion  made  half  a  franc  a  day  by  working  half-time  in  a 
paper-mill  as  a  machine-tender,  and  her  wages  contributed  to 
the  support  of  the  household.  Mme.  Chardon  went  back 
uncomplainingly  to  her  old  occupation,  sitting  up  night  after 
night,  and  bringing  home  her  wages  at  the  end  of  the  week. 
15 


226  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Poor  Mme.  Chardon  !  Twice  already  she  had  made  a  nine 
days'  prayer  for  those  she  loved,  wondering  that  God  should 
be  deaf  to  her  petitions  and  blind  to  the  light  of  the  candles 
on  His  altar. 

On  the  2d  of  September  a  letter  came  from  Lucien,  the 
first  since  the  letter  of  the  winter,  which  David  had  kept  from 
his  wife's  knowledge — the  announcement  of  the  three  bills 
which  bore  David's  signature.  This  time  Lucien  wrote  to 
Eve. 

"The  third  since  he  left  us!"  she  said.  Poor  sister, 
she  was  afraid  to  open  the  envelope  that  covered  the  fatal 
sheet. 

She  was  feeding  the  little  one  when  the  post  came  in ;  they 
could  not  afford  a  wet-nurse  now,  and  the  child  was  being 
brought  up  by  hand.  Her  state  of  mind  may  be  imagined, 
and  David's  also,  when  he  had  been  aroused  to  read  the  letter, 
for  David  had  been  at  work  all  night,  and  only  lay  down  at 
daybreak. 

Lucien  to  Eve. 

"  PARIS,  August  29*. 

"Mv  DEAR  SISTER: — Two  days  ago,  at  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  one  of  God's  noblest  creatures  breathed  her  last  in 
my  arms ;  she  was  the  one  woman  on  earth  capable  of  loving 
me  as  you  and  mother  and  David  love  me,  giving  me  beside 
that  unselfish  affection,  something  that  neither  mother  nor 
sister  can  give — the  utmost  bliss  of  love.  Poor  Coralie,  after 
giving  up  everything  for  my  sake,  may  perhaps  have  died  for 
me — for  me,  who  this  moment  have  not  the  wherewithal  to 
bury  her.  She  could  have  solaced  my  life;  you,  and  you 
alone,  my  dear  good  angels,  can  console  me  for  her  death. 
God  has  forgiven  her,  I  think,  the  innocent  girl,  for  she  died 
like  a  Christian.  Oh,  this  Paris !  Eve,  Paris  is  the  glory 
and  the  shame  of  France.  Many  illusions  I  have  lost  here 
already,  and  I  have  others  yet  to  lose,  when  I  begin  to  beg 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  227 

for  the  little  money  needed  before  I  can  lay  the  body  of  my 
angel  in  consecrated  earth. 

"Your  unhappy  brother, 

"  LUCIEN. 

"P.  S. — I  must  have  given  you  much  trouble  by  my  heed- 
lessness ;  some  day  you  will  know  all,  and  you  will  forgive 
me.  You  must  be  quite  easy  now ;  a  worthy  merchant,  a  M. 
Camusot,  to  whom  I  once  caused  cruel  pangs,  promised  to 
arrange  everything,  seeing  that  Coralie  and  I  were  so  much 
distressed." 

"The  sheet  is  still  moist  with  his  tears,"  said  Eve,  looking 
at  the  letter  with  a  heart  so  full  of  pity  that  something  of  the 
old  love  for  Lucien  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"  Poor  fellow,  he  must  have  suffered  cruelly  if  he  has  been 
loved  as  he  says!  "  exclaimed  Eve's  husband,  happy  in  his 
love  ;  and  these  two  forgot  all  their  own  troubles  at  this  cry 
of  a  supreme  sorrow.  Just  at  that  moment  Marion  rushed  in. 

"  Madame,"  she  panted,  "  here  they  are  !    Here  they  are  !  " 

"Who  is  here?" 

"  Doublon  and  his  men,  bad  luck  to  them  !  Kolb  will  not 
let  them  come  in  ;  they  have  come  to  sell  us  up." 

"  No,  no,  they  are  not  going  to  sell  you  up,  never  fear," 
cried  a  voice  in  the  next  room,  and  Petit-Claud  appeared 
upon  the  scene.  "  I  have  just  lodged  notice  of  appeal.  We 
ought  not  to  sit  down  under  a  judgment  that  attaches  a  stigma 
of  bad  faith  to  us.  I  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  fight  the 
case  here.  I  let  Cachan  talk  to  gain  time  for  you  ;  I  am  sure 
of  gaining  the  day  at  Poitiers " 

"  But  how  much  will  it  cost  to  win  the  day  ?  "  asked  Mme. 
Sechard. 

"  Fees  if  you  win,  one  thousand  francs  if  we  lose  our  case." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  cried  poor  Eve ;  "  why,  the  remedy  is  worse 
than  the  disease  !  " 


228  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Petit-Claud  was  not  a  little  confused  at  this  cry  of  innocence 
enlightened  by  the  progress  of  the  flames  of  litigation.  It 
struck  him  too  that  Eve  was  a  very  beautiful  woman.  In  the 
middle  of  the  discussion  old  Sechard  arrived,  summoned  by 
Petit-Claud.  The  old  man's  presence  in  the  chamber  where 
his  little  grandson  in  the  cradle  lay  smiling  at  misfortune 
completed  the  scene.  The  young  attorney  at  once  addressed 
the  new-comer  with — 

"You  owe  me  seven  hundred  francs  for  the  interpleader, 
Papa  Sechard  ;  but  you  can  charge  the  amount  to  your  son  in 
addition  to  the  arrears  of  rent." 

The  vine-dresser  felt  the  sting  of  sarcasm  conveyed  by 
Petit-Claud's  tone  and  manner. 

"  It  would  have  cost  you  less  to  give  security  for  the  debt 
at  first,"  said  Eve,  leaving  the  cradle  to  greet  her  father-in- 
law  with  a  kiss. 

David,  quite  overcome  by  the  sight  of  the  crowd  outside 
the  house  (for  Kolb's  resistance  to  Doublon's  men  had  col- 
lected a  knot  of  people),  could  only  hold  out  a  hand  to  his 
father  ;  he  did  not  say  a  word. 

"And  how,  pray,  do  I  come  to  owe  you  seven  hundred 
francs?"  the  old  man  asked,  looking  at  Petit-Claud. 

"  Why,  in  the  first  place,  I  am  engaged  by  you.  Your  rent 
is  in  question  ;  so,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  you  and  your 
debtor  are  one  and  the  same  person.  If  your  son  does  not 
pay  my  costs  in  the  case,  you  must  pay  them  yourself.  But 
this  is  nothing.  In  a  few  hours  David  will  be  put  in  prison ; 
will  you  allow  him  to  go  ?  " 

"  What  does  he  owe  ?  " 

"Something  like  five  or  six  thousand  francs,  beside  the 
amounts  owing  to  you  and  to  his  wife." 

The  speech  aroused  all  the  old  man's  suspicions  at  once. 
He  looked  round  the  little  blue-and-white  bedroom  at  the 
touching  scene  before  his  eyes — at  a  beautiful  woman  weeping 
over  a  cradle,  at  David  bowed  down  by  anxieties,  and  then 


HE    LOOKED  AT    A    BEAUTIFUL    WOMAN    WEEPING    OV 

CRADLE,    AT    DAVID   BOWED    DOWN    BY   ANXIETIES. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  229 

again  at  the  lawyer.  This  was  a  trap  set  for  him  by  that 
lawyer ;  perhaps  they  wanted  to  work  upon  his  paternal  feel- 
ings, to  get  money  out  of  him  ?  That  was  what  it  all  meant. 
He  took  alarm.  He  went  over  to  the  cradle  and  fondled  the 
child,  who  held  out  both  little  arms  to  him.  No  heir  to  an 
English  peerage  could  be  more  tenderly  cared  for  than  the 
little  one  in  that  house  of  trouble  ;  his  little  embroidered  cap 
was  lined  with  pale  pink. 

"  Eh  !  let  David  get  out  of  it  as  best  he  may.  I  am  think- 
ing of  this  child  here,"  cried  the  old  grandfather,  "and  the 
child's  mother  will  approve  of  that.  David  that  knows  so 
much  must  know  how  to  pay  his  debts." 

"Now  I  will  just  put  your  meaning  into  plain  language," 
said  Petit-Claud  ironically.  "  Look  here,  Papa  Sechard,  you 
are  jealous  of  your  son.  Hear  the  truth  !'  you  put  David  into 
his  present  position  by  selling  the  business  to  him  for  three 
times  its  value.  You  ruined  him  to  make  an  extortionate 
bargain  I  Yes,  don't  you  shake  your  head  ;  you  sold  the  news- 
paper to  the  Cointets  and  pocketed  all  the  proceeds,  and  that 
was  as  much  as  the  whole  business  was  worth.  You  bear 
David  a  grudge,  not  merely  because  you  have  plundered  him, 
but  because,  also,  your  own  son  is  a  man  far  above  yourself. 
You  profess  to  be  prodigiously  fond  of  your  grandson,  to 
cloak  your  want  of  feeling  for  your  son  and  his  wife, 
because  you  ought  to  pay  down  money  hie  et  nunc  for  them, 
while  you  need  only  show  a  posthumous  affection  for  your 
grandson.  You  pretend  to  be  fond  of  the  little  fellow,  lest 
you  should  be  taxed  with  your  want  of  feeling  for  your  own 
flesh  and  blood.  That  is  the  bottom  of  it,  Papa  Sechard." 

"Did  you  fetch  me  over  to  hear  this?"  asked  the  old 
man,  glowering  at  his  lawyer,  his  daughter-in-law,  and  his  son 
in  turn. 

"Monsieur!  "  protested  poor  Eve,  turning  to  Petit-Claud, 
"  have  you  vowed  to  ruin  us?  My  husband  has  never  uttered 
a  word  against  his  father."  (Here  the  old  man  looked  cun- 


230  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

ningly  at  her.)  "  David  has  told  me  scores  of  times  that  you 
loved  him  in  your  way,"  she  added,  looking  at  her  father-in- 
law,  and  understanding  his  suspicions. 

Petit-Claud  was  only  following  out  the  tall  Cointet's  in- 
structions. He  was  widening  the  breach  between  the  father  and 
son,  lest  Sechard  senior  should  extricate  David  from  his  intol- 
erable position.  "  The  day  that  David  Sechard  goes  to  prison 
shall  be  the  day  of  your  introduction  to  Madame  de  Senon- 
ches,"  the  "tall  Cointet "  had  said  no  longer  ago  than 
yesterday. 

Mme.  Sechard,  with  the  quick  insight  of  love,  had  divined 
Petit-Claud's  mercenary  hostility,  even  as  she  had  once  before 
felt  instinctively  that  Cerizet  was  a  traitor.  As  for  David, 
his  astonishment  may  be  imagined  ;  he  could  not  understand 
how  Petit-Claud  came  to  know  so  much  of  his  father's  nature 
and  his  own  history.  Upright  and  honorable  as  he  was,  he 
did  not  dream  of  the  relations  between  his  lawyer  and  the 
Cointets ;  nor,  for  that  matter,  did  he  know  that  the  Cointets 
were  at  work  behind  M6tivier.  Meanwhile  old  Sechard  took 
his  son's  silence  as  an  insult,  and  Petit-Claud,  taking  advan- 
tage of  his  client's  bewilderment,  beat  a  retreat. 

"  Good-by,  my  dear  David  ;  you  have  had  warning,  notice 
of  appeal  doesn't  invalidate  the  warrant  for  arrest.  It  is  the 
only  course  left  open  to  your  creditors,  and  it  will  not  be 

long  before  they  take  it.  So,  go  away  at  once Or, 

rather,  if  you  will  take  my  advice,  go  to  the  Cointets  and  see 
them  about  it.  They  have  capital.  If  your  invention  is  per- 
fected and  answers  the  purpose,  go  into  partnership  with 
them.  After  all,  they  are  very  good  fellows " 

"  Your  invention  ?  "  broke  in  old  Sechard. 

"  Why,  do  you  suppose  that  your  son  is  fool  enough  to  let 
his  business  slip  away  from  him  without  thinking  of  some- 
thing else  ?  "  exclaimed  the  attorney.  "  He  is  on  the  brink 
of  the  discovery  of  a  way  of  making  paper  at  a  cost  of  three 
francs  per  ream,  instead  of  ten,  he  tells  me." 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  231 

"  One  more  dodge  for  taking  me  in  !  You  are  all  as  thick 
as  thieves  in  a  fair.  If  David  has  found  out  such  a  plan,  he 
has  no  need  of  tne — he  is  a  millionaire  !  Good-by,  my  dears, 
and  a  good-day  to  you  all,"  and  the  old  man  disappeared 
down  the  staircase. 

"Find  some  way  of  hiding  yourself,"  was  Petit-Claud's 
parting  word  to  David,  and  with  that  he  hurried  out  to  exas- 
perate old  Sechard  still  further.  He  found  the  vine-grower 
growling  to  himself  outside  in  the  Place  du  Murier,  went  with 
him  as  far  as  L'  Houmeau,  and  there  left  him  with  a  threat  of 
putting  in  an  execution  for  the  costs  due  to  him  unless  they 
were  paid  before  the  week  was  out. 

"  I  will  pay  you  if  you  will  show  me  how  to  disinherit  my 
son  without  injuring  my  daughter-in-law  or  the  boy,"  said  old 
Sechard,  and  they  parted  forthwith. 

"  How  well  the  '  tall  Cointet '  knows  the  folk  he  is  dealing 
with  !  It  is  just  as  he  said  ;  those  seven  hundred  francs  will 
prevent  the  father  from  paying  seven  thousand,"  the  little 
lawyer  thought  within  himself  as  he  climbed  the  path  to  An- 
goul&me.  "  Still,  that  old  slyboots  of  a  papermaker  must 
not  overreach  us ;  it  is  time  to  ask  him  for  something  beside 
promises." 

"Well,  David  dear,  what  do  you  mean  to  do?"  asked  Eve, 
when  the  lawyer  had  followed  her  father-in-law,  old  Sechard, 
into  the  street. 

"  Marion,  put  your  biggest  pot  on  the  fire  !  "  called  David; 
"  I  have  my  secret  fast." 

At  this  Eve  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl  and  walking-shoes 
with  feverish  haste. 

"  Kolb,  my  friend,  get  ready  to  go  out,"  she  said,  "and 
come  with  me ;  if  there  is  any  way  out  of  this  hell,  I  must 
find  it." 

When  Eve  had  gone  out,  Marion  spoke  to  David.  "  Do 
be  sensible,  sir,"  she  said,  "or  the  mistress  will  fret  herself  to 


282  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

death.  Make  some  money  to  pay  off  your  debts,  and  then  you 
can  try  to  find  treasure  at  your  ease " 

"  Don't  talk,  Marion,"  said  David  ;  "  I  am  going  to  over- 
come my  last  difficulty,  and  then  I  can  apply  for  the  patent 
and  the  improvement  on  the  patent  at  the  same  time." 

This  "improvement  on  the  patent"  is  the  curse  of  the 
French  patentee.  A  man  may  spend  ten  years  of  his  life  in 
working  out  some  obscure  industrial  problem  ;  and,  when  he 
has  invented  some  piece  of  machinery  or  made  a  discovery  of 
some  kind,  he  takes  out  a  patent  and  imagines  that  he  has  a 
right  to  his  own  invention,  then  there  comes  a  competitor  ; 
and,  unless  the  first  inventor  has  foreseen  all  possible  contin- 
gencies, the  second  comer  makes  an  "  improvement  on  the 
patent "  with  a  screw  or  a  nut,  and  takes  the  whole  thing  out 
of  his  hands.  The  discovery  of  a  cheap  material  for  paper- 
pulp,  therefore,  is  by  no  means  the  conclusion  of  the  whole 
matter.  David  Sechard  was  anxiously  looking  ahead  on  all 
sides  lest  the  fortune  sought  in  the  teeth  of  such  difficulties 
should  be  snatched  out  of  his  hands  at  the  last.  Dutch  paper, 
as  flax  paper  is  still  called,  though  it  is  no  longer  made  in 
Holland,  is  slightly  sized ;  but  every  sheet  is  sized  separately 
by  hand,  and  this  increases  the  cost  of  production.  If  it  were 
possible  to  discover  some  way  of  sizing  the  paper  in  the  pulp- 
ing-trough,  with  some  inexpensive  glue,  like  that  in  use  to-day 
(though  even  now  it  is  not  quite  perfect),  there  would  be  no 
"  improvement  on  the  patent  "  to  fear.  For  the  past  month, 
accordingly,  David  had  been  making  experiments  in  sizing 
pulp.  He  had  two  discoveries  before  him. 

Eve  went  to  see  her  mother.  Fortunately,  it  so  happened 
that  Mme.  Chardon  was  nursing  the  deputy-magistrate's  wife, 
who  had  just  given  the  Milauds  of  Nevers  an  heir  presumptive ; 
and  Eve,  in  her  distrust  of  all  attorneys  and  notaries,  took 
into  her  head  to  apply  for  advice  to  the  legal  guardian  of  or- 
phans and  widows.  She  wanted  to  know  if  she  could  relieve 
David  from  his  embarrassments  by  taking  them  upon  herself 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  233 

and  selling  her  claims  upon  the  estate,  and,  beside,  she  had 
some  hope  of  discovering  the  truth  as  to  Petit-Claud's  unac- 
countable conduct.  The  official,  struck  with  Mme.  Sechard's 
beauty,  received  her  not  only  with  the  respect  due  to  a  woman, 
but  with  a  sort  of  courtesy  to  which  Eve  was  not  accustomed. 
She  saw  in  the  magistrate's  face  an  expression  which,  since  her 
marriage,  she  had  seen  in  no  eyes  but  Kolb's ;  and  for  a  beau- 
tiful woman  like  Eve  this  expression  is  the  criterion  by  which 
men  are  judged.  When  passion,  or  self-interest,  or  age  dims 
that  spark  of  unquestioning  fealty  that  gleams  in  a  young  man's 
eyes,  a  woman  feels  a  certain  mistrust  of  him,  and  begins  to 
observe  him  critically.  The  Cointets,  Cerizet,  and  Petit- 
Claud — all  the  men  whom  Eve  felt  instinctively  to  be  her 
enemies — had  turned  hard,  indifferent  eyes  on  her;  with  the 
deputy-magistrate,  therefore,  she  felt  at  ease,  although,  in 
spite  of  his  kindly  courtesy,  he  swept  all  her  hopes  away  by 
his  first  words. 

"It  is  not  certain,  madame,  that  the  Court-Royal  will  re- 
verse the  judgment  of  the  court  restricting  your  lien  on  your 
husband's  property,  for  payment  of  moneys  due  to  you  by  the 
terms  of  your  marriage-contract,  to  household  goods  and 
chattels.  Your  privilege  ought  not  to  be  used  to  defraud  the 
other  creditors.  But,  in  any  case,  you  will  be  allowed  to  take 
your  share  of  the  proceeds  with  the  other  creditors,  and  your 
father-in-law  likewise,  as  a  privileged  creditor,  for  arrears  of 
rent.  When  the  court  has  given  the  order,  other  points  may 
be  raised  as  to  the  '  contribution,'  as  we  call  it,  when  a 
schedule  of  the  debts  is  drawn  up,  and  the  creditors  are  paid 
a  dividend  in  proportion  to  their  claims." 

"Then  M.  Petit-Claud  is  bringing  us  to  bankruptcy,"  she 
cried. 

"  Petit-Claud  is  carrying  out  your  husband's  instructions," 
said  the  magistrate ;  "  he  is  anxious  to  gain  time,  so  his  attor- 
ney says.  In  my  opinion,  you  would  perhaps  do  better  to 
waive  the  appeal  and  buy  in  at  the  sale  the  indispensable  im- 


234  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

plements  for  carrying  on  the  business  ;  you  and  your  father- 
in-law  together  might  do  this,  you  to  the  extent  of  your  claim 
through  your  marriage-contract,  and  he  for  his  arrears  of  rent. 
But  that  would  be  bringing  the  matter  to  an  end  too  soon 
perhaps.  The  lawyers  are  making  a  good  thing  out  of  your 
case." 

"  But  then  I  should  be  entirely  in  Monsieur  S6chard's 
father's  hands.  I  should  owe  him  the  hire  of  the  machinery 
as  well  as  the  house-rent ;  and  my  husband  would  still  be  open 
to  further  proceedings  from  Monsieur  Me'tivier,  for  Monsieur 
Metivier  would  have  had  almost  nothing." 

"  That  is  true,  madame." 

"  Very  well,  then,  we  should  be  even  worse  off  than  we 
are." 

"  The  arm  of  the  law,  madame,  is  at  the  creditor's  dis- 
posal. You  have  received  three  thousand  francs,  and  you 
must  of  necessity  repay  the  money." 

"Oh,  sir,  can  you  think  that  we  are  capable "  Eve 

suddenly  came  to  a  stop.  She  saw  that  her  justification 
might  injure  her  brother. 

"  Oh  !  I  know  quite  well  that  this  is  an  obscure  affair,  that 
the  debtors  on  the  one  side  are  honest,  scrupulous,  and  even 
behaving  handsomely  ;  and  the  creditor,  on  the  other,  is  only 
a  cat's-paw " 

Eve,  aghast,  looked  at  him  with  bewildered  eyes. 

"  You  can  understand,"  he  continued,  with  a  look  full  of 
homely  shrewdness,  "that  we  on  the  bench  have  plenty  of 
time  to  think  over  all  that  goes  on  under  our  eyes,  while  the 
gentlemen  in  court  are  arguing  with  each  other." 

Eve  went  home  in  despair  over  her  useless  effort.  That 
evening  at  seven  o'clock,  Doublon  came  with  the  notification 
of  imprisonment  for  debt.  The  proceedings  had  reached  the 
acute  stage. 

"After  this,  I  can  only  go  out  after  nightfall,"  said  David. 

Eve  and  Mme.  Chardon  burst  into  tears.     To  be  in  hiding 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  235 

was  for  them  a  shameful  thing.  As  for  Kolb  and  Marion, 
they  were  the  more  alarmed  for  David  because  they  had  long 
since  made  up  their  minds  that  there  was  no  guile  in  their 
master's  nature ;  so  frightened  were  they  on  his  account  that 
they  came  upstairs  under  pretense  of  asking  whether  they  could 
do  anything,  and  found  Eve  and  Mme.  Chardon  in  tears  ;  the 
three  whose  life  had  been  so  straightforward  hitherto  were 
overcome  by  the  thought  that  David  must  go  into  hiding. 
And  how,  moreover,  could  they  hope  to  escape  the  invisible 
spies  who  henceforth  would  dog  every  least  movement  of  a 
man,  unluckily,  so  absent-minded  ? 

"  Gif  montame*  vill  vait  ein  liddle  kvarter  hour,  she  can 
regonnoitre  der  enemy's  camp,"  put  in  Kolb.  "You  shall 
see  dot  I  oonderstand  mein  pizness ;  for  gif  I  look  like  ein 
German,  I  am  ein  drue  Vrenchman,  and,  vat  is  more,  I  am 
ver'  conning." 

"Oh  !  madame,  do  let  him  go,"  begged  Marion.  "  He  is 
only  thinking  of  saving  the  master;  he  hasn't  another  thought 
in  his  head.  Kolb  is  not  an  Alsacien,  he  is — eh  !  well — a 
regular  Newfoundland  dog  for  rescuing  folk." 

"Go,  my  good  Kolb/'  said  David;  "we  have  still  time 
to  do  something." 

Kolb  hurried  off  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  bailiff;  and  it  so  fell 
out  that  David's  enemies  were  in  Doublon's  office,  holding  a 
council  as  to  the  best  way  of  securing  him. 

The  arrest  of  a  debtor  is  an  unheard-of  thing  in  the  country, 
an  abnormal  proceeding  if  ever  there  was  one.  Everybody, 
in  the  first  place,  knows  everybody  else,  and  creditor  and 
debtor  being  bound  to  meet  each  other  daily  all  their  lives 
long,  nobody  likes  to  take  this  odious  course.  When  a  de- 
faulter— to  use  the  provincial  term  for  a  debtor,  for  they  do 
not  mince  their  words  in  the  provinces  when  speaking  of  this 
legalized  method  of  helping  yourself  to  another  man's  goods 
— when  a  defaulter  plans  a  failure  on  a  large  scale,  he  takes 

*  Ignorant  of  French  he  uses  the  masculine  pronoun,  mon-da.me. 


236  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

sanctuary  in  Paris.  Paris  is  a  kind  of  City  of  Refuge  for 
provincial  bankrupts,  an  almost  impenetrable  retreat ;  the 
writ  of  the  pursuing  bailiff  has  no  force  beyond  the  limits  of 
his  jurisdiction,  and  there  other  obstacles  rendering  it  almost 
invalidating.  Wherefore  the  Paris  bailiff  is  empowered  to 
enter  the  house  of  a  third  party  to  seize  the  person  of  the 
debtor,  while  for  the  bailiff  of  the  provinces  the  domicile  is 
absolutely  inviolable.  The  law  probably  makes  this  exception 
as  to  Paris,  because  there  it  is  the  rule  for  two  or  more 
familes  to  live  under  the  same  roof;  but  in  the  provinces  the 
bailiff  who  wishes  to  make  forcible  entry  must  have  an  order 
from  the  justice  of  the  peace ;  and  so  wide  a  discretion  is 
allowed  the  justice  of  the  peace  that  he  is  practically  able 
to  give  or  withhold  assistance  to  the  bailiffs.  To  the  honor 
of  the  justices,  it  should  be  said  that  they  dislike  the  office 
and  are  by  no  means  anxious  to  assist  blind  passion  or  re- 
venge. 

There  are,  beside,  other  and  no  less  serious  difficulties  in 
the  way  of  arrest  for  debt — difficulties  which  tend  to  temper 
the  severity  of  legislation,  and  public  opinion  not  unfre- 
quently  makes  a  dead  letter  of  the  law.  In  great  cities  there 
are  poor  or  degraded  wretches  enough ;  poverty  and  vice 
know  no  scruples  and  consent  to  play  the  spy,  but  in  a  little 
country  town  people  know  each  other  too  well  to  earn  wages 
of  the  bailiff ;  the  meanest  creature  who  should  lend  himself 
to  dirty  work  of  this  kind  would  be  forced  to  leave  the  place. 
In  the  absence  of  recognized  machinery,  therefore,  the  arrest 
of  a  debtor  is  a  problem  presenting  no  small  difficulty ;  it 
becomes  a  kind  of  strife  of  ingenuity  between  the  bailiff  and 
the  debtor  and  matter  for  many  pleasant  stories  in  the  news- 
papers. 

Cointet  the  elder  did  not  choose  to  appear  in  the  affair ;  but 
the  fat  Cointet  openly  said  that  he  was  acting  for  Metivier, 
and  went  to  Doublon,  taking  C^rizet  with  him.  C6rizet  was 
his  foreman  now,  and  had  promised  his  co-operation  in  return 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  237 

for  a  thousand-franc  note.  Doublon  could  reckon  upon  two 
of  his  understrappers,  and  thus  the  Cointets  had  four  blood- 
hounds already  on  the  victim's  track.  At  the  actual  time  of 
arrest,  Doublon  could  furthermore  count  upon  the  police 
force,  who  are  bound,  if  required,  to  assist  a  bailiff  in  the 
performance  of  his  duty.  The  two  men,  Doublon  himself, 
and  the  visitors  were  all  closeted  together  in  the  private  office, 
beyond  the  public  office,  on  the  ground  floor. 

A  tolerably  wide-paved  lobby,  a  kind  of  passageway,  led  to 
the  public  office.  The  gilded  escutcheons  of  the  court,  with 
the  word  "BAILIFF"  printed  thereon  in  large  black  letters, 
hung  outside  on  the  house-wall  on  either  side  the  door.  Both 
office  windows  gave  upon  the  street  and  were  protected  by 
heavy  iron  bars;  but  the  private  office  looked  into  the  garden 
at  the  back,  wherein  Doublon,  an  adorer  of  Pomona,  grew 
espaliers  with  marked  success.  Opposite  the  office-door  you 
beheld  the  door  of  the  kitchen,  and,  beyond  the  kitchen,  the 
staircase  that  ascended  to  the  first  story.  The  house  was 
situated  in  a  narrow  street  at  the  back  of  the  new  Law  Courts, 
then  in  process  of  construction  and  only  finished  after  1830. 
These  details  are  perhaps  necessary  if  Kolb's  adventures  are 
to  be  intelligible  to  the  reader. 

It  was  Kolb's  idea  to  go  to  the  bailiff,  pretend  to  be  willing 
to  betray  his  master,  and  in  this  way  to  discover  the  traps 
which  would  be  laid  for  David.  Kolb  told  the  servant  who 
opened  the  door  that  he  wanted  to  speak  to  M.  Doublon  on 
business.  The  servant  was  busy  washing  up  her  plates  and 
dishes,  and  not  very  well  pleased  at  Kolb's  interruption  ;  she 
pushed  open  the  door  of  the  outer  office,  and  bade  him  wait 
there  until  her  master  was  at  liberty ;  then,  as  he  was  a  stranger 
to  her,  she  told  the  master  in  the  private  office  that  "  a  man  " 
wanted  to  speak  to  him.  Now,  "a  man"  so  invariably 
means  "a  peasant "  that  Doublon  said,  "Tell  him  to  wait," 
and  Kolb  took  a  seat  close  to  the  door  of  the  private  office. 
There  were  voices  talking  within. 


238  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"  Ah,  by-the-by,  how  do  you  mean  to  set  about  it  ?  For, 
if  we  can  catch  him  to-morrow,  it  will  be  so  much  time 
saved."  It  was  the  fat  Cointet  who  spoke. 

"  Nothing  easier ;  the  boss  has  come  fairly  by  his  nick- 
name," said  Cerizet. 

At  the  sound  of  the  fat  Cointet's  voice  Kolb  guessed  at 
once  that  they  were  talking  about  his  master,  especially  as 
the  sense  of  the  words  began  to  dawn  upon  him  ;  but,  when 
he  recognized  Cerizet's  tones,  his  astonishment  grew  more 
and  more. 

"  Und  dat  fellow  haf  eaten  his  pread  !  "  he  thought,  horror- 
stricken. 

"We  must  do  it  in  this  way,  boys,"  said  Doublon.  "  We 
will  post  our  men,  at  good  long  intervals,  about  the  Rue  de 
Beaulieu  and  the  Place  du  Murier  in  every  direction,  so  that 
we  can  follow  the  boss  (I  like  that  word)  without  his  knowl- 
edge. We  will  not  lose  sight  of  him  until  he  is  safe  inside 
the  house  where  he  means  to  lie  in  hiding  (as  he  thinks) ; 
there  we  will  leave  him  in  peace  for  a  while  ;  then  some  fine 
day  we  shall  come  across  him  before  sunrise  or  after  sunset." 

"  But  what  is  he  doing  now,  at  this  moment  ?  He  may  be 
slipping  through  our  fingers,"  said  the  fat  Cointet. 

"  He  is  in  his  house,"  answered  Doublon  ;  "  if  he  left  it, 
I  should  know.  I  have  one  witness  posted  in  the  Place  du 
Murier,  another  at  the  corner  of  the  Law  Courts,  and  another 
thirty  paces  from  the  house.  If  our  man  came  out  they 
would  whistle ;  he  could  not  make  three  paces  from  his  door 
but  I  should  know  of  it  at  once  from  the  signal." 

(Bailiffs  speak  of  their  understrappers  by  the  polite  title  of 
"witnesses.") 

Here  was  better  hap  than  Kolb  had  expected !  He  went 
noiselessly  out  of  the  office,  and  spoke  to  the  maid  in  the 
kitchen. 

"  Meestair  Touplon  ees  encaged  for  som  time  to  kom,"  he 
said ;  "  I  will  kom  back  early  to-morrow  morning." 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  239 

A  sudden  idea  had  struck  the  Alsacien,  and  he  proceeded 
to  put  it  into  execution.  Kolb  had  served  in  a  cavalry  regi- 
ment ;  he  hurried  off  to  see  a  livery  stablekeeper,  an  acquaint- 
ance of  his,  picked  out  a  horse,  had  it  saddled,  and  rushed 
back  to  the  Place  du  Murier.  He  found  Madame  Eve  in  the 
lowest  depths  of  despondency. 

"What  is  it,  Kolb?"  asked  David  when  the  Alsacien's 
face  looked  in  upon  them,  scared  but  radiant. 

"You  haf  scountrels  all  arount  you.  De  safest  way  ees  to 
hide  de  master.  Haf  montame  thought  of  hiding  de  master 
any  veres  ? ' ' 

When  Kolb,  honest  fellow,  had  explained  the  whole  history 
of  Cerizet's  treachery,  of  the  circle  traced  about  the  house, 
and  of  the  fat  Cointet's  interest  in  the  affair,  and  given  the 
family  some  inkling  of  the  schemes  set  on  foot  by  the  Cointets 
against  the  master — then  David's  real  position  gradually  be- 
came fatally  clear. 

"  It  is  the  Cointets'  doing !  "  cried  poor  Eve,  aghast  at  the 
news;  "they  are  proceeding  against  you!  that  accounts  for 

Metivier's  hardness They  are  papermakers — David ! 

they  want  your  secret !  " 

"  But  what  can  we  do  to  escape  them  ?  "  exclaimed  Mme. 
Chardon. 

"  If  der  misdress  had  som  liddle  blace  vere  the  master 
could  pe  hidden,"  said  Kolb ;  "  I  bromise  to  take  him  dere 
so  dot  nopody  shall  know." 

"Wait  till  nightfall  and  go  to  Basine  Clerget,"  said  Eve. 
"  I  will  go  now  and  arrange  it  all  with  her.  In  this  case, 
Basine  will  be  like  another  self  to  me." 

"Spies  will  follow  you,"  David  said  at  last,  recovering 
some  presence  of  mind.  "  How  can  we  find  a  way  of  com- 
municating with  Basine  if  none  of  us  can  go  to  her?" 

"  Montame  kan  go,"  said  Kolb.  "  Here  ees  my  scheme — 
I  go  out  mit  der  master,  ve  draws  der  vischtlers  on  our  drack. 
Montame  can  go  to  Montemoiselle  Clerchet ;  nopody  vill 


240  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

vollow  her.  I  haf  a  horse  ;  I  take  de  master  oop  behint ; 
und  der  teufel  is  in  it  if  they  katches  us." 

"Very  well ;  good-by,  dear,"  said  poor  Eve,  springing  to 
her  husband's  arms  ;  "  none  of  us  can  go  to  see  you,  the  risk 
is  too  great.  We  must  say  good-by  for  the  whole  time  that 
your  imprisonment  lasts.  We  will  write  to  each  other ;  Basine 
will  post  your  letters,  and  I  will  write  under  cover  to  her." 

No  sooner  did  David  and  Kolb  come  out  of  the  house  than 
they  heard  a  sharp  whistle,  and  were  followed  to  the  livery 
stable.  Once  there,  Kolb  took  his  master  up  behind  him, 
with  a  caution  to  keep  tight  hold. 

"  Vischtle  avay,  mine  goot  vriends  !  I  care  not  von  rap," 
cried  Kolb.  "You  vill  not  catch  an  old  trooper,"  and  the 
old  cavalry  man  clapped  both  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  was  out 
into  the  country  and  the  darkness  not  merely  before  the  spies 
could  follow,  but  before  they  had  time  to  discover  the  direc- 
tion that  he  took. 

Eve  meanwhile  went  out  on  the  tolerably  ingenious  pretext 
of  asking  advice  of  Postel,  sat  a  while  enduring  the  insulting 
pity  that  spends  itself  in  words,  left  the  Postel  family,  and 
stole  away  unseen  to  Basine  Clerget,  told  her  troubles,  and 
asked  for  help  and  shelter.  Basine,  for  greater  safety,  had 
brought.  Eve  into  her  bedroom,  and  now  she  opened  the  door 
of  a  little  closet,  lighted  only  by  a  skylight  in  such  a  way  that 
prying  ey.es  could  not  see  into  it.  The  two  friends  unstopped 
the  flue  which  opened  into  the  chimney  of  the  stove  in  the 
workroom,  where  the  girls  heated  their  irons.  Eve  and  Basine 
spread  ragged  coverlets  over  the  brick  floor  to  deaden  any 
sound  that  David  might  make,  put  in  a  truckle  bed,  a  stove 
for  his  experiments,  and  a  table  and  chair.  Basine  promised 
to  bring  food  in  the  night ;  and  as  no  one  had  occasion  to 
enter  her  room,  David  might  defy  his  enemies  one  and  all,  or 
even  detectives. 

"At  last !  "  Eve  said,  with  her  arms  about  her  friend,  "at 
last  he  is  in  safety." 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  241 

Eve  went  back  to  Postel  to  submit  a  fresh  doubt  that  had 
occurred  to  her,  she  said.  She  would  like  the  opinion  of 
such  an  experienced  member  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce ; 
she  so  managed  that  he  escorted  her  home,  and  listened 
patiently  to  his  commiseration. 

"Would  this  have  happened  if  you  had  married  me?" 
— all  the  little  druggist's  remarks  were  pitched  in  this  self- 
same key. 

Then  he  went  home  again  to  find  Mme.  Postel  jealous  of 
Mme.  Sechard,  and  furious  with  her  spouse  for  his  polite 
attention  to  that  beautiful  woman.  The  apothecary  advanced 
the  opinion  that  little  red-haired  women  were  preferable  to 
tall,  dark  women,  who,  like  fine  horses,  were  always  in  the 
stable,  he  said.  He  gave  proofs  of  his  sincerity,  no  doubt, 
for  Mme.  Postel  was  very  sweet  to  him  next  day. 

"  We  may  be  easy,"  Eve  said  to  her  mother  and  Marion, 
whom  she  found  still  "  in  a  taking,"  in  the  latter' s  phrase. 

"Oh  !  they  are  gone,"  said  Marion,  when  Eve  looked  un- 
thinkingly round  the  room. 

One  league  out  of  AngoulSme  on  the  main  road  to  Paris, 
Kolb  stopped. 

"Vere  shall  we  go?" 

"To  Marsac,"  said  David;  "since  we  are  on  the  way 
already,  I  will  try  once  more  to  soften  my  father's  heart." 

"I  would  rader  mount  to  der  assault  of  a  pattery,"  said 
Kolb,  "your  resbected  fader  haf  no  heart  whatefer." 

The  ex-pressman  had  no  belief  in  his  son ;  he  judged  him 
from  the  outside  point  of  view,  and  waited  for  results.  He 
had  no  idea,  to  begin  with,  that  he  had  plundered  David,  nor 
did  he  make  allowance  for  the  very  different  circumstances 
under  which  they  had  begun  life  ;  he  said  to  himself,  "I  set 
him  up  with  a  printing-house,  just  as  I  found  it  myself;  and 
he,  knowing  a  thousand  times  more  than  I  did,  cannot  keep 
it  going."  He  was  mentally  incapable  of  understanding  his 
16 


242  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

son ;  he  laid  the  blame  of  failure  upon  him,  and  even  prided 
himself,  as  it  were,  on  his  superiority  to  a  far  greater  intellect 
than  his  own,  with  the  thought,  "  I  am  securing  his  bread  for 
him." 

Moralists  will  never  succeed  in  making  us  comprehend  the 
full  extent  of  the  influence  of  sentiment  upon  self-interest,  an 
influence  every  whit  as  strong  as  the  action  of  interest  upon  our 
sentiments;  for  every  law  of  our  nature  works  in  two  ways, 
and  acts  and  reacts  upon  us. 

David,  on  his  side,  understood  his  father,  and  in  his  sub- 
lime charity  forgave  him.  Kolb  and  David  reached  Marsac 
at  eight  o'clock,  and  suddenly  came  in  upon  the  old  man  as 
he  was  finishing  his  dinner,  which,  by  force  of  circumstances, 
came  very  near  bedtime. 

"  I  see  you  because  there  is  no  help  for  it,"  said  old  Sdchard 
with  a  sour  smile. 

"  Und  how  should  you  and  mein  master  meet  ?  He  soars 
in  der  shkies,  and  you  are  always  mit  your  vines  !  You  bay 
for  him,  that's  vot  you  are  a  fader  for " 

"  Come,  Kolb,  off  with  you.  Put  up  the  horse  at  Madame 
Courtois'  so  as  to  save  inconvenience  here ;  fathers  are  always 
in  the  right,  remember  that." 

Kolb  went  off,  growling  like  a  chidden  dog,  obedient  but 
protesting;  and  David  proposed  to  give  his  father  indisputable 
proof  of  his  discovery,  while  reserving  his  secret.  He  offered 
to  give  him  an  interest  in  the  affair  in  return  for  money  paid 
down  ;  a  sufficient  sum  to  release  him  from  his  present  difficul- 
ties, with  or  without  a  further  amount  of  capital  to  be  em- 
ployed in  developing  the  invention. 

"And  how  are  you  going  to  prove  to  me  that  you  can  make 
good  paper  that  costs  nothing  out  of  nothing,  eh  ?  "  asked  the 
ex-printer,  giving  his  son  a  glance,  vinous,  it  may  be,  but 
keen,  inquisitive,  and  covetous ;  a  look  like  a  flash  of  lightning 
from  a  sodden  cloud;  for  the  old  "bear,"  faithful  to  his 
traditions,  never  went  to  bed  without  a  nightcap,  consisting 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  243 

of  a  couple  of  bottles  of  excellent  old  wine,  which  he  "tippled 
down  "  of  an  evening,  to  use  his  own  expression. 

"  Nothing  simpler,"  said  David  ;  "  I  have  none  of  the  paper 
about  me,  for  I  came  here  to  be  out  of  Doublon's  way ;  and, 
having  come  so  far,  I  thought  I  might  as  well  come  to  you  at 
Marsac  as  borrow  of  a  money-lender.  I  have  nothing  on  me 
but  my  clothes.  Shut  me  up  somewhere  on  -the  premises,  so 
that  nobody  can  come  in  or  see  me  at  work,  and " 

"  What?  you  will  not  let  me  see  you  at  your  work,  then?" 
asked  the  old  man,  with  an  ugly  look  at  his  son. 

"  You  have  given  me  to  understand  plainly,  father,  that 
in  matters  of  business  .  there  is  no  question  of  father  and 
son " 

"Ah  !  you  distrust  the  father  that  gave  you  life  !  " 

"  No  ;  the  other  father  who  took  away  the  means  of  earning 
a  livelihood." 

"Each  for  himself,  you  are  right!"  said  the  old  man. 
"  Very  good,  I  will  put  you  in  the  cellar." 

"I  will  go  down  there  with  Kolb.  You  must  let  me  have 
a  large  pot  for  my  pulp,"  said  David;  then  he  continued, 
without  noticing  the  quick  look  his  father  gave  him,  "  and 
you  must  find  artichoke  and  asparagus  stalks  for  me,  and  net- 
tles, and  the  reeds  that  you  cut  by  the  stream-side,  and  to- 
morrow morning  I  will  come  out  of  your  cellar  with  some 
splendid  paper." 

"  If  you  can  do  that,"  hiccoughed  the  "  bear,"  "  I  will  let 
you  have,  perhaps — I  will  see,  that  is,  if  I  can  let  you  have — 
pshaw  !  twenty-five  thousand  francs.  On  condition,  mind, 
that  you  make  as  much  for  me  every  year." 

"  Put  me  to  the  proof,  I  am  quite  willing,"  cried  David. 
"  Kolb  !  take  the  horse  and  go  to  Mansle,  quick,  buy  a  large 
hair  sieve  for  me  of  a  cooper  and  some  glue  of  the  grocer, 
and  come  back  again  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"There  !  drink,"  said  old  Sechard,  putting  down  a  bottle 
of  wine,  a  loaf,  and  the  cold  remains  of  the  dinner.  "You 


244  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

will  need  your  strength.  I  will  go  and  look  for  your  bits  of 
green  stuff;  green  rags  you  use  for  your  pulp,  and  a  trifle  too 
green,  I'm  afraid." 

Two  hours  later,  toward  eleven  o'clock  that  night,  David 
and  Kolb  took  up  their  quarters  in  a  little  outhouse  against  the 
cellar  wall ;  they  found  the  floor  paved  with  runnel  tiles,  and 
all  the  apparatus  used  in  the  Angoumois  for  the  manufacture 
of  Cognac  brandy. 

"  Pans  and  firewood  !  Why,  it  is  as  good  as  a  factory  made 
on  purpose  !  "  cried  David. 

"Very  well,  good-night,"  said  old  Sechard  ;  "I  shall  lock 
you  in,  and  let  both  the  dogs  loose  ;  nobody  will  bring  you 
any  paper,  I  am  sure.  You  show  me  those  sheets  to-morrow, 
and  I  give  you  my  word  I  will  be  your  partner,  and  the  business 
will  be  straightforward  and  properly  managed." 

David  and  Kolb,  locked  into  the  distillery,  spent  nearly 
two  hours  in  macerating  the  stems,  using  a  couple  of  logs  for 
mallets.  The  fire  blazed  up,  the  water  boiled.  About  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning  Kolb  heard  a  sound  which  David  was 
too  busy  to  notice,  a  kind  of  deep  breath  like  a  suppressed 
hiccough.  Snatching  up  one  of  the  two  lighted  dips,  he 
looked  round  the  walls,  and  beheld  old  Sdchard's  empurpled 
countenance  filling  up  a  square  opening  above  a  door  hitherto 
hidden  by  a  pile  of  empty  casks  in  the  cellar  itself.  The 
cunning  old  man  had  brought  David  and  Kolb  into  his 
underground  distillery  by  the  outer  door,  through  which  the 
casks  were  rolled  when  full.  The  inner  door  had  been  made 
so  that  he  could  roll  his  puncheons  straight  from  the  cellar 
into  the  distillery,  instead  of  taking  them  round  through  the 
yard. 

"Aha!  thees  eies  not  fair  blay,  you  van t  to  shvindle  your 
son  !  "  cried  the  Alsacien.  "  Do  you  know  vot  you  do  ven 
you  trink  ein  pottle  of  vine  ?  You  gif  goot  trink  to  ein  bad 
scountrel." 

"Oh,  father!"  cried  David. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  245 

"  I  came  to  see  if  you  wanted  anything,"  said  old  Sechard, 
half-sobered  by  this  time. 

"  Und  it  was  for  de  inderest  vot  you  take  in  us  dot  you 
brought  der  liddle  ladder  !  "  commented  Kolb,  as  he  pushed 
the  casks  aside  and  flung  open  the  door  ;  and  there,  in  fact, 
on  a  short  step-ladder,  the  old  man  stood  in  his  shirt. 

"  Risking  your  health  !  "  said  David. 

"I  think  I  must  be  walking  in  my  sleep,"  said  old  Sechard, 
coming  down  in  confusion.  "Your  want  of  confidence  in 
your  father  set  me  dreaming ;  I  dreamed  you  were  making  a 
pact  with  the  devil  to  do  impossible  things." 

"  Der  teufel,"  said  Kolb;  "  dot  is  your  own  bassion  for  de 
liddle  goldfinches." 

"  Go  back  to  bed  again,  father,"  said  David  ;  "  lock  us  in 
if  you  will,  but  you  may  save  yourself  the  trouble  of  coming 
down  again.  Kolb  will  mount  guard." 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  David  came  out  of  the 
distillery  ;  he  had  been  careful  to  leave  no  sign  of  his  occupa- 
tion behind  him  ;  but  he  brought  out  some  thirty  sheets  of 
paper  that  left  nothing  to  be  desired  in  fineness,  whiteness, 
toughness,  and  strength,  all  of  them  bearing  by  way  of  water- 
mark the  impress  of  the  uneven  hairs  of  the  sieve.  The  old 
man  took  up  the  samples  and  put  his  tongue  to  them,  the  life- 
long habit  of  the  pressman,  who  tests  papers  in  this  way.  He 
felt  it  between  his  thumb  and  finger,  crumpled  and  creased 
it,  put  it  through  all  the  trials  by  which  a  printer  assays  the 
quality  of  a  sample  submitted  to  him,  and  when  it  was  found 
wanting  in  no  respect,  he  still  would  not  allow  that  he  was 
beaten. 

"We  have  yet  to  know  how  it  takes  an  impression,"  he 
said,  to  avoid  praising  his  son. 

"Fonny  man  !  "  exclaimed  Kolb. 

The  old  man  was  cool  enough  now  ;  he  cloaked  his  feigned 
hesitation  with  paternal  dignity. 

"I  wish  to  tell  you  in  fairness,  father,  that  even  now  \\, 


246  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

seems  to  me  that  the  paper  costs  more  than  it  ought  to  do ;  I 
want  to  solve  the  problem  of  sizing  it  in  the  pulping-trough. 
I  have  just  that  one  improvement  to  make." 

"  Oho  !  so  you  are  trying  to  trick  me  !  " 

"  Well,  shall  I  tell  you?  I  can  size  the  pulp  as  it  is,  but 
so  far  I  cannot  do  it  evenly,  and  the  surface  is  as  rough  as  a 
burr !  " 

"  Very  good,  size  your  pulp  in  the  trough,  and  you  shall 
have  my  money." 

"  Mein  master  vill  nefer  see  de  golor  of  your  money,"  de- 
clared Kolb. 

Plainly,  the  old  man  meant  to  punish  David  for  last  night's 
humiliation,  for  he  treated  him  more  than  coldly.  David 
sent  Kolb  away. 

"  Father,"  he  began,  "  I  have  never  borne  you  any  grudge 
for  making  over  the  business  to  me  at  such  an  exorbitant  val- 
uation ;  I  have  seen  the  father  through  it  all.  I  have  said  to 
myself — '  The  old  man  has  worked  very  hard,  and  he  certainly 
gave  me  a  better  bringing  up  than  I  had  a  right  to  expect  ;  let 
him  enjoy  the  fruits  of  his  toil  in  peace,  and  in  his  own  way.' 
I  even  gave  up  my  mother's  money  to  you.  I  began  incum- 
bered  with  debt,  and  bore  all  the  burdens  that  you  put  upon 
me  without  a  murmur.  Well,  harassed  for  debts  that  were 
not  of  my  making,  with  no  bread  in  the  house,  and  my  feet 
held  to  the  flames,  I  have  found  out  the  secret.  I  have  strug- 
gled on  patiently  till  my  strength  is  exhausted.  It  is,  perhaps, 
your  duty  to  help  me,  but  do  not  give  me  a  thought ;  think 
of  a  woman  and  a  little  one  "  (David  could  not  keep  back  the 
tears  at  this)  ;  "  think  of  them,  and  give  them  help  and  pro- 
tection. Kolb  and  Marion  have  given  me  their  savings  ;  will 
you  do  less  ?  "  he  cried  at  last,  seeing  that  his  father  was  cold 
as  the  impression -stone. 

"And  that  was  not  enough  for  you,"  said  the  old  man, 
without  the  slightest  sense  of  shame ;  "  why,  you  would  waste 
the  wealth  of  the  Indies  !  Good-night  !  I  am  too  ignorant 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  247 

to  lend  a  hand  in  schemes  got  up  on  purpose  to  exploit  me. 
A  monkey  will  never  gobble  down  a  bear  "  (alluding  to  the 
workshop  nicknames) ;  "  I  am  a  vine-grower,  I  am  not  a 
banker.  And  what  is  more,  look  you,  business  between  father 
and  son  never  turns  out  well.  Stay  and  eat  your  dinner  here ; 
you  shan't  say  that  you  came  for  nothing." 

There  are  some  deep-hearted  natures  that  can  force  their 
own  pain  into  inner  depths  unsuspected  by  those  dearest  to 
them ;  and  with  them,  when  anguish  forces  its  way  to  the 
surface  and  is  visible,  it  is  only  after  a  mighty  upheaval. 
David's  nature  was  one  of  these.  Eve  had  thoroughly  under- 
stood the  noble  character  of  the  man.  But,  now  that  the 
depths  had  been  stirred,  David's  father  took  the  wave  of  an- 
guish that  passed  over  his  son's  features  for  a  child's  trick,  an 
attempt  to  "get  round"  his  father,  and  his  bitter  grief  for 
mortification  over  the  failure  of  the  attempt.  Father  and  son 
parted  in  anger. 

David  and  Kolb  reached  Angoul&me  on  the  stroke  of  mid- 
night. They  came  back  on  foot,  and  stealthily,  like  burglars. 
Before  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  David  was  installed  in  the 
impenetrable  hiding-place  prepared  by  his  wife  in  Basine 
Clerget's  house.  No  one  saw  him  enter  it,  and  the  pity  that 
henceforth  should  shelter  David  was  the  most  resourceful  pity 
of  all — the  pity  of  a  workgirl. 

Kolb  bragged  that  day  that  he  had  saved  his  master  on  horse- 
back, and  only  left  him  in  a  carrier's  van  well  on  the  way  to 
Limoges.  A  sufficient  provision  of  raw  material  had  been 
laid  up  in  Basine's  cellar,  and  Kolb,  Marion,  Mme.  Sechard, 
and  her  mother  had  no  communication  with  the  house. 

Two  days  after  the  scene  at  Marsac,  old  Sechard  came 
hurrying  to  Angoulgme  and  his  daughter-in-law.  Covetous- 
ness  had  brought  him.  There  were  three  clear  weeks  ahead 
before  the  vintage  began,  and  he  thought  he  would  be  on  the 
lookout  for  squalls,  to  use  his  own  expression.  To  this  end 
he  took  up  his  quarters  in  one  of  the  attics  which  he  had 


248  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

reserved  by  the  terms  of  the  lease,  willfully  shutting  his  eyes 
to  the  bareness  and  want  that  made  his  son's  home  desolate. 
If  they  owed  him  rent,  they  could  well  afford  to  keep  him. 
He  ate  his  food  from  a  tinned  iron  plate,  and  made  no  marvel 
at  it.  "  I  began  in  the  same  way,"  he  told  his  daughter-in- 
law,  when  she  apologized  for  the  absence  of  silver  spoons. 

Marion  was  obliged  to  run  into  debt  for  necessaries  for 
them  all.  Kolb  was  earning  a  franc  for  daily  wage  as  a 
bricklayer's  laborer ;  and  at  last  poor  Eve,  who,  for  the  sake 
of  her  husband  and  child,  had  sacrified  her  last  resources  to 
entertain  David's  father,  saw  that  she  had  only  ten  francs  left. 
She  had  hoped  to  the  last  to  soften  the  old  miser's  heart  by 
her  affectionate  respect,  and  patience,  and  pretty  attentions ; 
but  old  Sechard  was  obdurate  as  ever.  When  she  saw  him 
turn  the  same  cold  eyes  on  her,  the  same  look  that  the  Co- 
intets  had  given  her,  and  Petit-Claud  and  Cerizet,  she  tried 
to  watch  and  guess  old  Sechard's  intentions.  Trouble  thrown 
away !  Old  Sechard,  never  sober,  never  drunk,  was  inscrut- 
able ;  intoxication  is  a  double  veil.  If  the  old  man's  tipsiness 
was  sometimes  real,  it  was  quite  as  often  feigned  for  the  pur- 
pose of  extracting  David's  secret  from  his  wife.  Sometimes 
he  coaxed,  sometimes  he  frightened  his  daughter-in-law. 

"  I  will  drink  up  my  property;  /  will  buy  an  annuity"  he 
would  threaten  when  Eve  told  him  that  she  knew  nothing. 

The  humiliating  struggle  was  wearing  her  out ;  she  kept 
silence  at  last,  lest  she  should  show  disrespect  to  her  hus- 
band's father. 

"But,  father,"  she  said  one  day  when  driven  to  extremity, 
"there  is  a  very  simple  way  of  finding  out  everything.  Pay 
David's  debts;  he  will  come  home,  and  you  can  settle  it 
between  you. ' ' 

" Ha  !  that  is  what  you  want  to  get  out  of  me,  is  it? "  he 
cried.  "  It  is  as  well  to  know !  " 

But  if  Sechard  had  no  belief  in  his  so»,  he  had  plenty  of 
faith  in  the  Cointets.  He  went  to  consult  them,  and  the 


'OH,    INDEED,   ARE    YOU    TURNING    THIEF    IN    YOUR    OLD   AGE?' 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  249 

Cointets  dazzled   him  of  set    purpose,  telling   him  that  his 
son's  experiments  might  mean  millions  of  francs. 

"  If  David  can  prove  that  he  has  succeeded,  I  shall  not 
hesitate  to  go  into  partnership  with  him,  and  reckon  his  dis- 
covery as  half  the  capital,"  the  tall  Cointet  told  him. 

The  suspicious  old  man  learned  a  good  deal  over  nips  of 
brandy  with  the  workpeople,  and  something  more  by  ques- 
tioning Petit-Claud  and  feigning  stupidity  ;  and  at  length 
he  felt  convinced  that  the  Cointets  were  the  real  movers 
behind  Metivier;  they  were  plotting  to  ruin  Sechard's  print- 
ing establishment,  and  to  lure  him  (Sechard)  on  to  pay  his 
son's  debts  by  holding  out  the  discovery  as  a  bait.  The 
old  man  of  the  people  did  not  suspect  that  Petit-Claud  was 
in  the  plot,  nor  had  he  any  idea  of  the  toils  woven  to  en- 
snare the  great  secret.  A  day  came  at  last  when  he  grew 
angry  and  out  of  patience  with  the  daughter-in-law  who 
would  not  so  much  as  tell  him  where  David  was  hiding ; 
he  determined  to  force  the  laboratory  door,  for  he  had  dis- 
covered that  David  was  wont  to  make  his  experiments  in 
the  private  workshop  where  the  printing  rollers  were  melted 
down. 

He  came  down  stairs  very  early  one  morning  and  set  to 
work  upon  the  lock. 

"Hey!  Papa  Sechard,  what  are  you  doing  there?" 
Marion  called  out.  (She  had  risen  at  daybreak  to  go  to 
her  paper-mill,  and  now  she  sprang  across  to  the  work- 
shop. 

"I  am  in  my  own  house,  am  I  not?"  said  the  old  man 
in  some  confusion. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  are  you  turning  thief  in  your  old  age?    You 

are  not  drunk  this  time  either I  shall  go  straight  to  the 

mistress  and  tell  her." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Marion,"  said  Sdchard,  drawing  two 
crowns  of  six  francs  each  from  his  pocket.  "There " 

"  I  will  hold  my  tongue,  but  don't  you  do  it  again,"  said 


250  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Marion,  shaking  her  finger  at  him,  "  or  all  Angoulgme  shall 
hear  of  it." 

The  old  man  had  scarcely  gone  out,  however,  when  Marion 
went  up  to  her  mistress. 

"Look,  madame,"  she  said,  "I  have  had  twelve  francs 
out  of  your  father-in-law,  and  here  they  are " 

"How  did  you  do  it?" 

"  What  was  he  wanting  to  do  but  to  take  a  look  at  the 
master's  pots  and  pans  and  stuff,  to  find  out  the  secret,  for- 
sooth. I  knew  quite  well  that  there  was  nothing  in  the 
little  place,  but  I  frightened  him  and  talked  as  if  he  were 
setting  about  robbing  his  son,  and  he  gave  me  twelve  francs 
to  say  nothing  about  it." 

Just  at  that  moment  Basine  came  in  radiant,  and  with  a 
letter  for  her  friend,  a  letter  from  David  written  on  magnifi- 
cent paper,  which  she  handed  over  when  they  were  alone. 

"My  ADORED  EVE: — I  am  writing  to  you  the  first  letter 
on  my  first  sheet  of  paper  made  by  the  new  process.  I 
have  solved  the  problem  of  sizing  the  pulp  in  the  trough  at 
last.  A  pound  of  pulp  costs  five  sous,  even  supposing  that 
the  raw  material  is  grown  on  good  soil  with  special  culture  ; 
three  francs'  worth  of  sized  pulp  will  make  a  ream  of  paper 
at  twelve  pounds  to  the  ream.  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  can 
lessen  the  weight  of  books  by  one-half.  The  envelope,  the 
letter,  and  samples  enclosed  are  all  manufactured  in  different 
ways.  I  kiss  you ;  we  shall  have  wealth  now  to  add  to  our 
happiness,  everything  else  we  had  before." 

"There !  "  said  Eve,  handing  the  samples  to  her  father-in- 
law,  "when  the  vintage  is  over  let  your  son  have  the  money, 
give  him  a  chance  to  make  his  fortune,  and  you  shall  be  repaid 
ten  times  over  ;  he  has  succeeded  at  last !  " 

Old  Sechard  hurried  at  once  to  the  Cointets.  Every  sample 
was  tested  and  minutely  examined  ;  the  prices,  from  three  to 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  251 

ten  francs  per  ream,  were  noted  on  each  separate  slip ;  some 
were  sized,  others  unsized ;  some  were  of  almost  metallic 
purity,  others  soft  as  Japanese  paper ;  in  color  there  was  every 
possible  shade  of  white.  If  old  Sechard  and  the  two  Cointets 
had  been  Jews  examining  diamonds,  their  eyes  could  not  have 
glistened  more  eagerly. 

"Your  son  is  on  the  right  track,"  the  fat  Cointet  said  at 
length. 

"  Very  well,  pay  his  debts,"  returned  old  Sechard. 

"By  all  means,  if  he  will  take  us  into  partnership,"  said 
the  tall  Cointet. 

"You  are  extortioners?  "  cried  old  Sechard.  "  You  have 
been  suing  him  under  Metivier's  name,  and  you  mean  me  to 
buy  you  off;  that  is  the  long  and  the  short  of  it.  Not  such  a 
fool,  gentlemen " 

The  brothers  looked  at  one  another,  but  they  contrived  to 
hide  their  surprise  at  the  old  miser's  shrewdness. 

"We  are  not  millionaires,"  said  fat  Cointet;  "we  don't 
discount  bills  for  amusement.  We  should  think  ourselves  well 
off  if  we  could  pay  ready  money  for  our  bits  of  accounts  for 
rags,  and  we  still  give  bills  to  our  dealer." 

"The  experiment  ought  to  be  tried  first  on  a  much  larger 
scale,"  the  tall  Cointet  said  coldly;  "sometimes  you  try  a 
thing  with  a  saucepan  and  succeed,  and  fail  utterly  when  you 
experiment  with  bulk.  You  should  help  your  son  out  of 
difficulties." 

"Yes  ;  but  when  my  son  was  at  liberty,  would  he  take  me 
as  his  partner?" 

"  That  is  no  business  of  ours,"  said  the  fat  Cointet.  "  My 
good  man,  do  you  suppose  that  when  you  have  paid  some  ten 
thousand  francs  for  your  son,  that  there  is  an  end  of  it?  It 
will  cost  two  thousand  francs  to  take  out  a  patent ;  there  will 
be  journeys  to  Paris;  and,  before  going  to  any  expense,  it 
would  be  prudent  to  do  as  my  brother  here  suggests,  and  make 
a  thousand  reams  or  so ;  to  try  several  whole  batches  to  make 


252  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

sure.     You  see,  there  is  nothing  you  must  be  so  much  on  your 
guard  against  as  an  inventor." 

"I  have  a  liking  for  bread  ready  buttered  myself,"  added 
the  tall  Cointet. 

All  through  that  night  the  old  man  ruminated  over  this 
dilemma — "  If  I  pay  David's  debts,  he  will  be  set  at  liberty, 
and  once  set  at  liberty  he  need  not  share  his  fortune  with  me 
unless  he  chooses.  He  knows  very  well  that  I  cheated  him 
over  the  first  partnership,  and  he  will  not  care  to  try  a  second  ; 
so  it  is  to  my  interest  to  keep  him  shut  up,  the  wretched  boy." 

The  Cointets  knew  enough  of  Sechard  senior  to  see  that 
they  should  hunt  in  couples.  All  three  said  to  themselves — 
"  Experiments  must  be  tried  before  the  discovery  can  take 
any  practical  shape.  David  Sechard  must  be  set  at  liberty 
before  those  experiments  can  be  made ;  and  David  Sechard, 
set  at  liberty,  will  slip  through  our  fingers." 

Everybody  involved,  moreover,  had  his  own  little  after- 
thought. 

Petit-Claud,  for  instance,  said,  "As  soon  as  I  am  married, 
I  will  slip  my  neck  out  of  the  Cointets'  yoke ;  but  until  then 
I  shall  hold  on." 

The  tall  Cointet  thought,  "  I  would  rather  have  David 
under  lock  and  key,  and  then  I  should  be  master  of  the 
situation." 

Old  Sechard,  too,  thought,  "  If  I  pay  my  son's  debts,  he 
will  repay  me  with  a  '  Thank  you  !  '  " 

Eve,  hard  pressed  (for  the  old  man  threatened  now  to  turn 
her  out  of  the  house),  would  neither  reveal  her  husband's 
hiding-place  nor  even  send  proposals  of  a  safe-conduct.  She 
could  not  feel  sure  of  finding  so  safe  and  secure  a  refuge  a 
second  time. 

"Set  your  son  at  liberty,"  she  told  her  father-in-law,  "and 
then  you  shall  know  everything." 

The  four  interested  persons  sat,  as  it  were,  with  a  banquet 
spread  before  them,  none  of  them  daring  to  begin,  each  one 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  253 

suspicious  and  watchful  of  his  neighbor.  A  few  days  after 
David  went  into  hiding,  Petit-Claud  went  to  the  mill  to  see 
the  tall  Cointet. 

"I  have  done  my  best,"  he  said;  "David  has  gone  into 
prison  of  his  own  accord  somewhere  or  other ;  he  is  working 
out  some  improvement  there  in  peace.  It  is  no  fault  of  mine 
if  you  have  not  gained  your  end  ;  are  you  going  to  keep  your 
promise?" 

"  Yes,  if  we  succeed,"  said  the  tall  Cointet.  "Old  Sechard 
was  here  only  a  day  or  two  ago;  he  came  to  ask  us  some 
questions  as  to  paper-making.  The  old  miser  has  got  wind 
of  his  son's  invention;  he  wants  to  turn  it  to  his  own  account, 
so  there  is  some  hope  of  a  partnership.  You  are  with  the 
father  and  the  son " 

"Be  the  third  person  in  the  trinity  and  give  them  up," 
smiled  Petit-Claud. 

"Yes,"  said  Cointet.  "When  you  have  David  in  prison, 
or  bound  to  us  by  a  deed  of  partnership,  you  shall  marry 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Haye." 

"  Is  that  your  ultimatum  ?" 

"  My  sine  qua  nan,"  said  Cointet,  "since  we  are  speaking 
in  foreign  languages." 

"  Then  here  is  mine  in  plain  language,"  Petit-Claud  said 
drily. 

"  Ah !  let  us  have  it,"  answered  Cointet  with  some  curi- 
osity. 

"  You  will  present  me  to-morrow  to  Madame  de  Senonches, 
and  do  something  definite  for  me  ;  you  will  keep  your  word, 
in  short ;  or  I  will  clear  off  Sechard's  debts  myself,  sell  my 
practice,  and  go  into  partnership  with  him.  I  will  not  be 
duped.  You  have  spoken  out  and  I  am  doing  the  same.  I 
have  given  proof,  give  me  proof  of  your  sincerity.  You  have 
all,  and  I  have  nothing.  If  you  won't  do  fairly  by  me,  I  know 
your  cards  and  I  shall  play  for  my  own  hand." 

The  tall  Cointet  took  his  hat  and  umbrella,  his  face  at  the 


254  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

same  time  taking  its  Jesuitical  expression,  and  out  he  went, 
bidding  Petit-Claud  come  with  him. 

"  You  shall  see,  my  friend,  whether  I  have  prepared  your 
way  for  you,"  said  he. 

The  shrewd  paper  manufacturer  saw  his  danger  at  a  glance ; 
and  saw,  too,  that  with  a  man  like  Petit-Claud  it  was  better  to 
play  above-board.  Partly  to  be  prepared  for  contingencies, 
partly  to  satisfy  his  conscience,  he  had  dropped  a  word  or  two 
to  the  point  in  the  ear  of  the  ex-consul-general,  under  the  pre- 
text of  putting  Mademoiselle  de  la  Haye's  financial  position 
before  that  gentleman. 

"I  have  the  man  for  Francoise,"  he  had  said;  "for  with 
thirty  thousand  francs  of  dot  a  girl  must  not  expect  too  much 
nowadays. ' ' 

"  We  will  talk  it  over  later  on,"  answered  Francis  de 
Hautoy,  ex-consul-general.  "  Madame  deSenonches'  position 
has  altered  very  much  since  Madame  de  Bargeton  went  away  ; 
we  very  likely  might  marry  Francoise  to  some  elderly  country 
gentleman." 

"She  would  disgrace  herself  if  you  did,"  Cointet  returned 
in  his  dry  way.  "  Better  marry  her  to  some  capable,  ambi- 
tious young  man  ;  you  could  help  him  with  your  influence,  and 
he  would  make  a  good  position  for  his  wife." 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  Francis  du  Hautoy  ;  "  her  godmother 
ought  to  be  consulted  first  in  any  case." 

When  M.  de  Bargeton  died,  his  wife  sold  the  great  house 
in  the  Rue  de  Minage.  Mme.  de  Senonches,  finding  her  own 
house  scarcely  large  enough,  persuaded  M.  de  Senonches  to  buy 
the  Hotel  de  Bargeton,  the  cradle  of  Lucien  Chardon's  am- 
bitions, the  scene  of  the  earliest  events  in  his  career.  Zeph- 
irine  de  Senonches  had  it  in  mind  to  succeed  to  Mme.  de 
Bargeton ;  she,  too,  would  be  a  kind  of  queen  in  Angouleme; 
she  would  have  a  "salon,"  and  be  a  great  lady,  in  short. 
There  was  a  schism  in  Angoulgme,  a  strife  dating  from  the 
late  M.  de  Bargeton's  duel  with  M.  de  Chandour.  Some 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  255 

maintained  that  Louise  de  Negrepelisse  was  blameless,  others 
believed  in  Stanislas  de  Chandour's  scandals.  Mme.  de 
Senonches  declared  for  the  Bargetons,  and  began  by  winning 
over  that  faction.  Many  frequenters  of  the  Hotel  de  Bargeton 
had  been  so  accustomed  for  years  to  their  nightly  game  of 
cards  in  the  house  that  they  could  not  leave  it,  and  Mme.  de 
Senonches  turned  this  fact  to  account.  She  received  every 
evening,  and  certainly  gained  all  the  ground  lost  by  Amelie 
de  Chandour,  who  set  up  for  a  rival. 

Francis  de  Hautoy,  living  in  the  inmost  circle  of  nobility 
in  Angoul&me,  went  so  far  as  to  think  of  marrying  Francoise 
to  old  M.  de  S6verac,  Mme.  du  Brossard  having  totally  failed 
to  capture  that  gentleman  for  her  daughter ;  and  when  Mme.  de 
Bargeton  reappeared  as  the  prefect's  wife,  Zephirine's  hopes 
for  her  dear  goddaughter  waxed  high  indeed.  The  Comtesse 
du  Chatelet,  so  she  argued,  would  be  sure  to  use  her  influence 
for  her  champion. 

Boniface  Cointet  had  Angouldme  at  his  fingers'  ends ;  he 
saw  all  the  difficulties  at  a  glance,  and  resolved  to  sweep 
them  out  of  the  way  by  a  bold  stroke  that  only  a  Tartufe's 
brain  could  invent.  The  puny  lawyer  was  not  a  little  amazed 
to  find  his  fellow-conspirator  keeping  his  word  with  him  ;  not 
a  word  did  Petit-Claud  utter,  he  respected  the  musings  of  his 
companion,  and  they  walked  the  whole  way  from  the  paper- 
mill  to  the  Rue  du  Minage  in  silence. 

"  Monsieur  and  madame  are  at  breakfast  " — this  announce- 
ment met  the  ill-timed  visitors  on  the  steps. 

"  Take  in  our  names,  all  the  same,"  said  the  tall  Cointet ; 
and  feeling  sure  of  his  position,  he  followed  immediately  be- 
hind the  servant  and  introduced  his  companion  to  the  elabo- 
rately affected  Zephirine,  who  was  breakfasting  in  company 
with  M.  Francis  du  Hautoy  and  Mile,  de  la  Haye.  M.  de 
Senonches  had  gone,  as  usual,  for  a  day's  shooting  over  M. 
de  Pimentel's  land. 

"  Monsieur  Petit-Claud  is  the  young  lawyer  of  whom  I 


366  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

spoke  to  you,  madame  ;  he  will  go  through  the  trust  accounts 
when  your  fair  ward  comes  of  age. ' ' 

The  ex-diplomatist  made  a  quick  scrutiny  of  Petit-Claud, 
who,  for  his  part,  was  looking  furtively  at  the  "  fair  ward." 
As  for  Zephirine,  who  heard  of  the  matter  for  the  first  time, 
her  surprise  was  so  great  that  she  dropped  her  fork. 

Mile,  de  la  Haye,  a  shrewish  young  woman  with  an  ill- 
tempered  face,  a  waist  that  could  scarcely  be  called  slender, 
a  thin  figure,  and  colorless  fair  hair,  in  spite  of  a  certain  little 
air  that  she  had,  was  by  no  means  easy  to  marry.  The  "  par- 
entage unknown  "  on  her  birth  certificate  was  the  real  bar  to 
her  entrance  into  the  sphere  where  her  godmother's  affection 
strove  to  establish  her.  Mile,  de  la  Haye,  ignorant  of  her 
real  position,  was  very  hard  to  please  ;  the  richest  merchant 
in  L'Houmeau  had  found  no  favor  in  her  sight.  Cointet  saw 
the  sufficiently  significant  expression  of  the  young  lady's  face 
at  the  sight  of  the  little  lawyer,  and,  turning,  beheld  a  pre- 
cisely similar  grimace  on  Petit-Claud's  countenance.  Mme. 
de  Senonches  and  Francis  looked  at  each  other,  as  if  in  search 
of  an  excuse  for  getting  rid  of  the  visitors.  All  this  Cointet 
saw.  He  asked  M.  du  Hautoy  for  the  favor  of  a  few  minutes' 
speech  with  him,  and  the  pair  went  together  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

"  Fatherly  affection  is  blinding  you,  sir,"  he  said  bluntly. 
"  You  will  not  find  it  an  easy  thing  to  marry  your  daughter ; 
and,  acting  in  your  interest  throughout,  I  have  put  you  in  a 
position  from  which  you  cannot  draw  back  ;  for  I  am  fond  of 
Francoise,  she  is  my  ward.  Now — Petit-Claud  knows  every- 
thing! His  overweening  ambition  is  a  guarantee  for  our  dear 
child's  happiness  ;  for,  in  the  first  place,  Francoise  will  do  as 
she  likes  with  her  husband  ;  and,  in  the  second,  he  wants 
your  influence.  You  can  ask  the  new  prefect  for  the  post  of 
crown  attorney  for  him  in  the  court  here.  Monsieur  Milaud 
is  definitely  appointed  to  Nevers,  Petit-Claud  will  sell  his 
practice,  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  a  deputy 


LOST  ILLUSIONS,  257 

public  prosecutor's  place  for  him  ;  and  it  will  not  be  long 
before  he  becomes  attorney  for  the  crown,  president  of  the 
court,  deputy,  what  you  will." 

Francis  went  back  to  the  dining-room  and  behaved  charm- 
ingly to  his  daughter's  suitor.  He  gave  Mine,  de  Senonches 
a  look,  and  brought  the  scene  to  a  close  with  an  invitation  to 
dine  with  them  on  the  morrow ;  Petit-Claud  must  come  and 
discuss  the  business  in  hand.  He  even  went  downstairs  and 
as  far  as  the  court  with  the  visitors,  telling  Petit-Claud  that, 
after  Cointet's  recommendations,  both  he  and  Mme.  de 
Senonches  were  disposed  to  approve  all  that  Mile,  de  la 
Haye's  trustee  had  arranged  for  the  welfare  of  that  little  angel. 

"Oh?"  cried  Petit-Claud,  as  they  came  away,  "what  a 
plain  girl !  I  have  been  taken  in " 

"She  looks  a  lady-like  girl,"  returned  Cointet,  "and, 
beside,  if  she  were  a  beauty,  would  they  give  her  to  you  ? 
Eh  !  my  dear  fellow,  thirty  thousand  francs  and  the  influence 
of  Madame  de  Senonches  and  the  Comtesse  du  Ch^telet ! 
Many  a  small  landowner  would  be  wonderfully  glad  of  the 
chance,  and  all  the  more  so  since  M.  Francis  du  Hautoy  is 
never  likely  to  marry,  and  all  that  he  has  will  go  to  the  girl. 
Your  marriage  is  as  good  as  settled." 

"How?" 

"That  is  what  I  am  just  going  to  tell  you,"  returned 
Cointet,  and  he  gave  his  companion  an  account  of  his  recent 
bold  stroke.  "  Monsieur  Milaud  is  just  about  to  be  appointed 
an  attorney  for  the  crown  at  Nevers,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  con- 
tinued ;  "sell  your  practice,  and  in  ten  years'  time  you  will 
be  keeper  of  the  seals.  You  are  not  the  kind  of  man  to  draw 
back  from  any  pettifogging  service  required  of  you  by  the 
court." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Petit-Claud,  his  zeal  stirred  by  the  pros- 
pect of  such  a  career,  "  very  well,  be  in  the  Place  du  Mtirier 
to-morrow  at  half-past   four ;  I  will  see  old  S£chard  in  the 
meantime ;  we  will  have  a  deed  of  partnership  drawn  up,  and 
17 


258  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

the  father  and  the  son  shall  be  securely  bound  thereby,  and 
then  delivered  to  the  third  person  of  the  trinity — Cointet,  to 
wit." 

To  return  to  Lucien  in  Paris.  On  the  morrow  of  the  loss 
announced  in  his  letter,  he  obtained  a  visa  for  his  passport, 
bought  a  stout  holly  stick,  and  went  to  the  Rue  d'Enfer  to 
take  a  place  in  the  little  market  van,  which  took  him  as  far  as 
Longjumeau  for  half  a  franc.  He  was  going  home  to  Angou- 
Igme.  At  the  end  of  the  first  day's  tramp  he  slept  in  a  cow- 
shed, two  leagues  from  Arpajon.  He  had  come  no  farther  than 
Orleans  before  he  was  very  weary  and  almost  ready  to  break 
down,  but  there  he  found  a  boatman  willing  to  bring  him  as 
far  as  Tours  for  three  francs,  and  food  during  the  journey  cost 
him  but  forty  sous.  Five  days  of  walking  brought  him  from 
Tours  to  Poitiers,  and  left  him  with  but  five  francs  in  his 
pockets,  but  he  summoned  up  all  his  remaining  strength  for 
the  journey  before  him. 

He  was  overtaken  by  night  in  the  open  country,  and  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  sleep  out  of  doors,  when  a  traveling 
carriage  passed  by,  slowly  climbing  the  hillside,  and,  all  un- 
known to  the  postillion,  the  occupants,  and  the  servant,  he 
managed  to  slip  in  among  the  luggage,  crouching  in  between 
two  trunks  lest  he  should  be  shaken  off  by  the  jolting  of  the 
carriage — and  so  he  slept. 

He  awoke  with  the  sun  shining  into  his  eyes,  and  the  sound 
of  voices  in  his  ears.  The  carriage  had  come  to  a  standstill. 
Looking  about  him,  he  knew  that  he  was  at  Mansle,  the  little 
town  where  he  had  waited  for  Mme.  de  Bargeton  eighteen 
months  before,  when  his  heart  was  full  of  hope  and  love  and 
joy.  A  group  of  post-boys  eyed  him  curiously  and  suspici- 
ously, covered  with  dust  as  he  was,  wedged  in  among  the 
luggage.  Lucien  jumped  down,  but  before  he  could  speak 
two  travelers  stepped  out  of  the  caleche,  and  the  words  died 
away  on  his  lips;  for  there  stood  the  new  prefect  of  the 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  259 

Charente,  Sixte  du  Chfitelet,  and  his  wife,  Louise  de  Negre- 
pelisse. 

"  Chance  gave  us  a  traveling-companion  if  we  had  but 
known  !  "  said  the  Countess.  "  Come  in  with  us,  monsieur." 

Lucien  gave  the  couple  a  distant  bow  and  a  half-humbled, 
half-defiant  glance ;  then  he  turned  away  into  a  cross-country 
road  in  search  of  some  farmhouse  where  he  might  make  a 
breakfast  on  milk  and  bread,  and  rest  a  while,  and  think 
quietly  over  the  future.  He  still  had  three  francs  left.  On 
and  on  he  walked  with  the  hurrying  pace  of  fever,  noticing  as 
he  went,  down  by  the  riverside,  that  the  country  grew  more 
and  more  picturesque.  It  was  near  midday  when  he  came 
upon  a  sheet  of  water  with  willows  growing  about  the  margin, 
and  stopped  for  a  while  to  rest  his  eyes  on  the  cool,  thick- 
growing  leaves ;  and  something  of  the  grace  of  the  fields  en- 
tered into  his  soul. 

In  among  the  crests  of  the  willows  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
a  mill  near-by  on  a  branch  stream,  and  of  the  thatched  roof 
of  the  mill-house  where  the  house-leeks  were  growing.  For 
all  ornament,  the  quaint  cottage  was  covered  with  jessamine 
and  honeysuckle  and  climbing  hops,  and  the  garden  about  it 
was  gay  with  phloxes  and  tall,  juicy-leaved  plants.  Nets  lay 
drying  in  the  sun  along  a  paved  causeway  raised  above  the 
highest  flood  level,  and  secured  by  massive  piles.  Ducks 
were  swimming  in  the  clear  mill-pond  below  the  currents  of 
water  roaring  over  the  wheel.  As  the  poet  came  nearer  he 
heard  the  clack  ofthe  mill,  and  saw  the  good-natured,  homely 
woman  of  the  house  knitting  on  a  garden  bench,  and  keeping 
an  eye  upon  a  little  one  who  was  chasing  the  hens  about. 

Lucien  came  forward.  "  My  good  woman,"  he  said,  "I 
am  tired  out ;  I  have  a  fever  on  me,  and  I  have  only  three 
francs ;  will  you  undertake  to  give  me  brown  bread  and  milk, 
and  let  me  sleep  in  the  barn  for  a  week  ?  I  shall  have  time 
to  write  to  my  people,  and  they  will  either  come  to  fetch  me 
or  send  me  money." 


260  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"  I  am  quite  willing,  always  supposing  that  my  husband  has 
no  objection.  Hey  !  little  man  !  " 

The  miller  came  up,  gave  Lucien  a  look  over,  and  took  his 
pipe  out  of  his  mouth  to  remark,  "  Three  francs  for  a  week's 
board  ?  You  might  as  well  pay  nothing  at  all." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  end  as  a  miller's  man,"  thought  the  poet, 
as  his  eyes  wandered  over  the  lovely  country.  Then  the 
miller's  wife  made  a  bed  ready  for  him,  and  Lucien  lay  down 
and  slept  so  long  that  his  hostess  was  frightened. 

"Courtois,"  she  said,  next  day  at  noon,  "just  go  in  and 
see  whether  that  young  man  is  dead  or  alive ;  he  has  been 
lying  there  these  fourteen  hours." 

The  miller  was  busy  spreading  out  his  fishing-nets  and  lines. 
"  It  is  my  belief,"  he  said,  "  that  the  pretty  fellow  yonder  is 
some  starveling  play-actor  without  a  brass  farthing  to  bless  him- 
self with." 

"What  makes  you  think  that,  little  man?"  asked  the 
mistress  of  the  mill. 

"  Lord,  he  is  not  a  prince,  nor  a  lord,  nor  a  member  of  par- 
liament, nor  a  bishop ;  why  are  his  hands  as  white  as  if  he 
did  nothing?" 

"  Then  it  is  very  strange  that  he  does  not  feel  hungry  and 
wake  up,"  retorted  the  miller's  wife ;  she  had  just  prepared 
breakfast  for  yesterday's  chance  guest.  "  A  play-actor,  is 
he?"  she  continued.  "Where  will  he  be  going?  It  is  too 
early  yet  for  the  fair  at  Angoulgme." 

But  neither  the  miller  nor  his  wife  suspected  that  (actors, 
princes,  and  bishops  apart)  there  is  a  kind  of  being  who  is 
both  prince  and  actor,  and  invested  beside  with  a  magnifi- 
cent order  of  priesthood — that  the  poet  who  seems  to  do 
nothing,  yet  reigns  over  all  humanity  when  he  can  paint 
humanity. 

"What  can  he  be?"  Courtois  asked  of  his  wife. 

"Suppose  it  should  be  dangerous  to  take  him  in?" 
queried  she. 


LOS T  ILLUSIONS.  261 

"Pooh!  thieves  look  more  alive  than  that;  we  should 
have  been  robbed  by  this  time,"  returned  her  spouse. 

"  I  am  neither  a  prince  nor  a  thief,  nor  a  bishop  nor  an 
actor,"  Lucien  said  wearily;  he  must  have  overheard  the 
colloquy  through  the  window,  and  now  he  suddenly  ap- 
peared. "  I  am  poor,  I  am  tired  out.  I  have  come  on 
foot  from  Paris.  My  name  is  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  and  my 
father  was  Monsieur  Chardon,  who  used  to  have  Postel's 
business  in  L'Houmeau.  My  sister  Eve  married  David 
S6chard,  the  printer  in  the  Place  du  Murier  at  Angou- 
leme." 

"Stop  a  bit,"  said  the  miller,  "that  printer  is  the  son 
of  the  old  skinflint  who  farms  his  own  land  at  Marsac, 
isn't  he?" 

"The  very  same,"  said  Lucien. 

"He  is  a  queer  kind  of  a  father,  he  is  !  "  Courtois  con- 
tinued. "He  is  worth  two  hundred  thousand  francs  and 
more,  without  counting  his  money-box,  and  he  has  sold 
his  son  up,  they  say." 

When  body  and  soul  have  been  broken  by  a  prolonged 
painful  struggle,  there  comes  a  crisis  when  a  strong  nature 
braces  itself  for  greater  effort ;  but  those  who  give  way 
under  the  strain  either  die  or  sink  into  unconsciousness 
like  death.  That  hour  of  crisis  had  struck  for  Lucien  ;  at 
the  vague  rumor  of  the  catastrophe  that  had  befallen  David, 
he  seemed  almost  ready  to  succumb.  "Oh!  my  sister!" 
he  cried.  "Oh,  God!  what  have  I  done?  Base  wretch 
that  I  am  !  " 

He  dropped  down  on  the  wooden  bench,  looking  white 
and  powerless  as  a  dying  man ;  the  miller's  wife  brought 
out  a  bowl  of  milk  and  made  him  drink,  but  he  begged 
the  miller  to  help  him  back  to  his  bed,  and  asked  to  be 
forgiven  for  bringing  a  dying  man  into  their  house.  He 
thought  his  last  hour  had  come.  With  the  shadow  of  death, 
thoughts  of  religion  crossed  a  brain  so  quick  to  conceive  pic- 


262  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

turesque  fancies ;  he  would  see  the  cure,  he  would  confess 
and  receive  the  last  sacraments.  The  moan,  uttered  in  the 
faint  voice  by  a  young  man  with  such  a  comely  face  and 
figure,  went  to  Mme.  Courtois'  heart. 

"  I  say,  little  man,  just  take  the  horse  and  go  to  Marsac 
and  ask  Doctor  Marron  to  come  and  see  this  young  man  ;  he 
is  in  a  very  bad  way,  it  seems  to  me,  and  you  might  bring 
the  cure  as  well.  Perhaps  they  may  know  more  about  that 
printer  in  the  Place  du  Murier  than  you  do,  for  Postel  mar- 
ried Monsieur  Marron 's  daughter." 

Courtois  departed.  The  miller's  wife  tried  to  make  Lucien 
take  food  ;  like  all  country-bred  folk,  she  was  full  of  the  idea 
that  sick  folk  must  be  made  to  eat.  He  took  no  notice  of  her, 
but  gave  way  to  a  violent  storm  of  remorseful  grief,  a  kind  of 
mental  process  of  counter-irritation,  which  relieved  him. 

The  Courtois'  mill  lies  a  league  away  from  Marsac,  the 
town  of  the  district,  and  the  half-way  halt  between  Mansle 
and  Angoulgme ;  so  it  was  not  long  before  the  good  miller 
came  back  with  the  doctor  and  the  cur£.  Both  functionaries 
had  heard  rumors  coupling  Lucien's  name  with  the  name  of 
Mme.  de  Bargeton ;  and  now  when  the  whole  department 
was  talking  of  the  lady's  marriage  to  the  new  prefect  and  her 
return  to  Angouleme  as  the  Comtesse  du  Cha'telet,  both  cure" 
and  doctor  were  consumed  with  a  violent  curiosity  to  know 
why  M.  de  Bargeton's  widow  had  not  married  the  young  poet 
with  whom  she  had  left  AngoulSme.  And  when  they  heard, 
furthermore,  that  Lucien  was  at  the  mill,  they  were  eager  to 
know  whether  the  poet  had  come  to  the  rescue  of  his  brother- 
in-law.  Curiosity  and  humanity  alike  prompted  them  to  go  at 
once  to  the  dying  man.  Two  hours  after  Courtois  set  out, 
Lucien  heard  the  rattle  of  old  iron  over  the  stony  causeway, 
the  country  doctor's  ramshackle  chaise  came  up  to  the  door, 
and  out  stepped  the  MM.  Marron,  for  the  cure  was  the  doc- 
tor's uncle.  Lucien's  bedside  visitors  were  as  intimate  with 
David's  father  as  country  neighors  usually  are  in  a  small  vine- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  263 

growing  township.  The  doctor  looked  at  the  dying  man, 
felt  his  pulse,  and  examined  his  tongue ;  then  he  looked  at 
the  miller's  wife,  and  smiled  reassuringly. 

"  Madame  Courtois,"  said  he,  "  if,  as  I  do  not  doubt,  you 
have  a  bottle  of  good  wine  somewhere  in  the  cellar  and  a  fat 
eel  in  your  fish-pond,  put  them  before  your  patient,  it  is  only 
exhaustion  ;  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  him.  Our  great 
man  will  be  on  his  feet  again  directly." 

"Ah!  monsieur,"  said  Lucien,  "it  is  not  the  body,  it  is 
the  mind  that  ails.  These  good  people  have  told  me  tidings 
that  nearly  killed  me  ;  I  have  just  heard  bad  news  of  my  sister, 
Madame  Sechard.  Madame  Courtois  says  that  your  daughter 
is  married  to  Postel,  monsieur,  so  you  must  know  something 
of  David  Sechard's  affairs ;  oh,  for  heaven's  sake,  monsieur, 
tell  me  what  you  know  !  " 

"Why,  he  must  be  in  prison,"  began  the  doctor;  "his 
father  would  not  help  him " 

"//*  prison  !  "  repeated  Lucien,  "  and  why  ?  " 

"  Because  some  bills  came  from  Paris ;  he  had  overlooked 
them,  no  doubt,  for  he  does  not  pay  much  attention  to  his 
business,  they  say,"  said  Dr.  Marron. 

"Pray  leave  me  with  Monsieur  le  CureV'  said  the  poet,  with 
a  visible  change  of  countenance.  The  doctor  and  the  miller 
and  his  wife  went  out  of  the  room,  and  Lucien  was  left  alone 
with  the  old  priest. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "  I  feel  that  death  is  near,  and  I  deserve  to 
die.  I  am  a  very  miserable  wretch,  I  can  only  cast  myself 
into  the  arms  of  religion.  I,  sir,  /  have  brought  all  these 
troubles  on  my  sister  and  brother,  for  David  Sechard  has  been 
a  brother  to  me  !  I  drew  those  bills  that  David  could  not 

meet ! I  have  ruined  him.  In  my  terrible  misery  I  forgot 

the  crime.  A  millionaire  put  an  end  to  the  proceedings,  and 
I  quite  believed  that  he  had  met  the  bills ;  but  nothing  of  the 
kind  has  been  done,  it  seems."  And  Lucien  told  the  tale  of 
his  sorrows.  The  story,  as  he  told  it  in  his  feverish  excite- 


264  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

ment,  was  worthy  of  the  poet.  He  besought  the  cure  to  go  to 
Angouldme  and  to  ask  for  news  of  Eve  and  his  mother,  Mme. 
Chardon,  and  to  let  him  know  the  truth,  and  whether  it  was 
still  possible  to  repair  the  evil. 

"  I  shall  live  till  you  come  back,  sir,"  he  added,  as  the  hot 
tears  fell.  "  If  my  mother,  and  sister,  and  David  do  not  cast 
me  off,  I  shall  not  die." 

Lucien's  remorse  was  terrible  to  see,  the  tears,  the  elo- 
quence, the  young  white  face  with  the  heart-broken,  despairing 
look,  the  tales  of  sorrow  upon  sorrow  till  human  strength 
could  no  more  endure,  all  these  things  aroused  the  curd's  pity 
and  interest. 

"In  the  provinces,  as  in  Paris,"  he  said,  "you  must  be- 
lieve only  half  of  all  that  you  hear.  Do  not  alarm  yourself; 
a  piece  of  hearsay,  three  leagues  away  from  Angouleme,  is  sure 
to  be  far  from  the  truth.  Old  Sechard,  our  neighbor,  left 
Marsac  some  days  ago ;  very  likely  he  is  busy  settling  his  son's 
difficulties.  I  am  going  to  Angouleme ;  I  will  come  back  and 
tell  you  whether  you  can  return  home ;  your  confessions  and 
repentance  will  help  to  plead  your  cause." 

The  cure  did  not  know  that  Lucien  had  repented  so  many 
times  during  the  last  eighteen  months,  that  penitence,  how- 
ever impassioned,  had  come  to  be  a  kind  of  drama  with  him, 
played  to  perfection,  played  so  far  in  all  good  faith,  but  none 
the  less  a  drama.  To  the  cure  succeeded  the  doctor.  He 
saw  that  the  patient  was  passing  through  a  nervous  crisis,  and 
the  danger  was  beginning  to  subside.  The  doctor-nephew 
spoke  as  comfortably  as  the  cure-uncle,  and  at  length  the 
patient  was  persuaded  to  take  nourishment. 

Meanwhile  the  curd,  knowing  the  manners  and  customs  of 
the  countryside,  had  gone  to  Mansle :  the  coach  from  Ruffec 
to  Angouleme  was  due  to  pass  about  that  time,  and  he  found 
a  vacant  place  in  it.  He  would  go  to  his  grand-nephew 
Postel  in  L'Houmeau  (David's  former  rival)  and  make  inqui- 
ries of  him.  From  the  assiduity  with  which  the  little  drug- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  265 

gist  assisted  his  venerable  relative  to  alight  from  the  abomin- 
able cage  which  did  duty  as  a  coach  between  Ruffec  and 
Angouleme,  it  was  apparent  to  the  meanest  understanding 
that  M.  and  Mme.  Postel  founded  their  hopes  of  future  ease 
upon  the  old  cure's  will. 

"  Have  you  breakfasted  ?  Will  you  take  something  ?  We 
did  not  in  the  least  expect  you  !  This  is  a  pleasant  surprise  !  " 
Out  came  questions  innumerable  in  a  breath. 

Mme.  Postel  might  have  been  born  to  be  the  wife  of  an 
apothecary  in  L'Houmeau.  She  was  a  common-looking 
woman,  about  the  same  height  as  little  Postel  himself,  such 
good  looks  as  she  possessed  being  entirely  due  to  youth  and 
health.  Her  florid,  auburn  hair  grew  very  low  upon  her  fore- 
head. Her  demeanor  and  language  were  in  keeping  with 
homely  features,  a  round  countenance,  the  red  cheeks  of  a 
country  damsel,  and  eyes  that  might  almost  be  described  as 
yellow.  Everything  about  her  said  plainly  enough  that  she 
had  been  married  for  expectations  of  money.  After  a  year  of 
married  life,  therefore,  she  ruled  the  house ;  and  Postel,  only 
too  happy  to  have  discovered  the  heiress,  meekly  submitted 
to  his  wife.  Mme.  L£onie  Postel,  nee  Marron,  was  nursing 
her  first  child,  the  darling  of  the  old  cur6,  the  doctor,  and 
Postel,  a  repulsive  infant,  with  a  strong  likeness  to  both 
parents. 

"Well,  uncle,"  said  Leonie,  "what  has  brought  you  to 
Angoulgme,  since  you  will  not  take  anything,  and  no  sooner 
come  in  than  you  talk  of  going  ?  " 

But  when  the  venerable  ecclesiastic  brought  out  the  names 
of  David  Sechard  and  Eve,  little  Postel  grew  very  red,  and 
Leonie,  his  wife,  felt  it  incumbent  upon  her  to  give  him  a 
jealous  glance — the  glance  that  a  wife  never  fails  to  give 
when  she  is  perfectly  sure  of  her  husband,  and  gives  a  look 
into  the  past  by  way  of  a  reminder  and  a  caution  for  the 
future. 

"What  have  yonder    folk  done  to  you,  uncle,  that  you 


266  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

should  mix  yourself  up  with  their  affairs?  "  inquired  Leonie, 
with  very  perceptible  tartness. 

"  They  are  in  trouble,  my  girl,"  said  the  cur6,  and  he  told 
the  Postels  about  Lucien  at  the  Courtois'  mill. 

"  Oh !  so  that  is  the  way  he  came  back  from  Paris,  is  it  ?  " 
exclaimed  Postel.  "  Yet  he  had  some  brains,  poor  fellow, 
and  he  was  ambitious  too.  He  went  out  to  look  for  wool, 
and  comes  home  shorn.  But  what  does  he  want  here?  His 
sister  is  frightfully  poor ;  for  all  these  geniuses,  David  and 
Lucien  alike,  know  very  little  about  business.  There  was 
some  talk  of  him  at  the  Tribunal,  and,  as  a  judge,  I  was 
obliged  to  sign  the  warrant  of  execution.  It  was  a  painful 
duty.  I  do  not  know  whether  the  sister's  circumstances  are 
such  that  Lucien  can  go  to  her ;  but  in  any  case  the  little  room 
that  he  used  to  occupy  here  is  at  liberty,  and  I  shall  be  pleased 
to  offer  it  to  him." 

"  That  is  right,  Postel,"  said  the  priest ;  he  bestowed  a  kiss 
on  the  infant  slumbering  in  Leonie's  arms,  and,  adjusting  his 
cocked  hat,  prepared  to  walk  out  of  the  shop. 

"You  will  dine  with  us,  uncle,  of  course,"  said  Mme. 
Postel ;  "  if  once  you  meddle  in  those  people's  affairs,  it  will 
be  some  time  before  you  have  done.  My  husband  will  drive 
you  back  again  in  his  little  pony-cart." 

Husband  and  wife  stood  watching  their  valued,  aged  relative 
on  his  way  into  Angouleme.  "  He  carries  himself  well  for  his 
age,  all  the  same,"  remarked  the  druggist. 

By  this  time  David  had  been  in  hiding  for  eleven  days  in  a 
house  only  two  doors  away  from  the  druggist's  shop,  which 
the  worthy  ecclesiastic  had  just  quitted  to  climb  the  steep 
path  into  Angouleme  with  the  news  of  Lucien's  present 
condition. 

When  the  Abbe  Marron  debouched  upon  the  Place  du 
Murier  he  found  three  men,  each  one  remarkable  in  his  own 
way,  and  all  of  them  bearing  with  their  whole  weight  upon  the 
present  and  future  of  the  hapless  voluntary  prisoner.  There 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  267 

stood  old  Sechard,  the  tall  Cointet,  and  his  confederate,  the 
puny  limb  of  the  law,  three  men  representing  three  phases  of 
greed  as  widely  different  as  the  outward  forms  of  the  speakers. 
The  first  had  it  in  his  mind  to  sell  his  own  son  ;  the  second,  to 
betray  his  client ;  and  the  third,  while  bargaining  for  both 
iniquities,  was  inwardly  resolved  to  pay  for  neither.  It  was 
nearly  five  o'clock.  Passers-by  on  their  way  home  to  dinner 
stopped  a  moment  to  look  at  the  group. 

"  What  the  devil  can  old  Sechard  and  the  tall  Cointet  have 
to  say  to  each  other? "  asked  the  more  curious. 

"  There  is  something  on  foot  concerning  that  miserable 
wretch  that  leaves  his  wife  and  child  and  mother-in-law  to 
starve,"  suggested  some. 

"  Talk  of  sending  a  boy  to  Paris  to  learn  his  trade !  "  said 
a  provincial  oracle. 

"Monsieur  le  Cure!  -What  brings  you  here,  eh?"  ex- 
claimed old  Sechard,  catching  sight  of  the  abb6  as  soon  as 
he  appeared. 

"  I  have  come  on  account  of  your  family,"  answered  the 
old  man. 

"Here  is  another  of  my  son's  notions!"  exclaimed  old 
Sechard. 

"  It  would  not  cost  you  much  to  make  everybody  happy  all 
round,"  said  the  priest,  looking  at  the  windows  of  the  printing- 
house.  Mme.  Sechard's  beautiful  face  appeared  at  that  mo- 
ment between  the  curtains  ;  she  was  hushing  her  child's  cries 
by  tossing  him  in  her  arms  and  singing  to  him. 

"Are  you  bringing  news  of  my  son?"  asked  old  Sechard, 
" or  what  is  more  to  the  purpose — money? " 

"No,"  answered  M.  Marron,  "  I  am  bringing  the  sister 
news  of  her  brother." 

"  Of  Lucien  ?  "  cried  Petit-Claud. 

"  Yes,  he  walked  all  the  way  from  Paris,  poor  young  man. 
I  found  him  at  the  Courtois'  house  ;  he  was  worn  out  with 
misery  and  fatigue.  Oh  !  he  is  very  much  to  be  pitied." 


268  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Petit-Claud  took  the  tall  Cointet  by  the  arm,  saying  aloud, 
"  If  we  are  going  to  dine  with  Madame  de  Senonches  it  is  time 
to  dress."  When  they  had  come  away  a  few  paces,  he  added, 
for  his  companion's  benefit,  "  Catch  the  cub,  and  you  will 
soon  have  the  dam  ;  we  have  David  now " 

"  I  have  found  you  a  wife,  find  me  a  partner,"  said  the  tall 
Cointet  with  a  treacherous  smile. 

"  Lucien  is  an  old  school-fellow  of  mine ;  we  used  to  be 
chums.  I  shall  be  sure  to  hear  something  from  him  in  a 
week's  time.  Have  the  banns  put  up,  and  I  will  engage  to 
put  David  in  prison.  When  he  is  on  the  jailer's  register,  I 
shall  have  done  my  part." 

"Ah  !  "  exclaimed  the  tall  Cointet  under  his  breath,  "  we 
might  have  the  patent  takers  out  in  our  name ;  that  would  be 
the  thing!  " 

A  shiver  ran  through  the  meagre  little  attorney  when  he 
heard  those  words. 

Meanwhile  Eve  beheld  her  father-in-law  enter  with  the  Abbe 
Marron,  who  had  let  fall  a  word  which  unfolded  the  whole 
tragedy. 

"  Here  is  our  cur6,  Madame  Sechard,"  the  old  man  said, 
addressing  his  daughter-in-law,  "and  pretty  tales  about  your 
brother  he  has  to  tell  us,  no  doubt." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  poor  Eve,  cut  to  the  heart ;  "  what  can  have 
happened  now  ? ' ' 

The  cry  told  so  unmistakably  of  many  sorrows,  of  great 
dread  on  so  many  grounds,  that  the  Abb6  Marron  made  haste 
to  say,  "  Reassure  yourself,  madame  ;  he  is  living." 

Eve  turned  to  the  vine-grower. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough  to 
go  to  my  mother ;  she  must  hear  all  that  this  gentleman  has 
to  tell  us  of  Lucien." 

The  old  man  went  in  search  of  Mme.  Chardon,  and  ad- 
dresses her  on  this  wise — 

"  Go  and  have  it  out  with  the  Abbe  Marron  ;  he  is  a  good 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  269 

sort,  priest  though  he  is.  Dinner  will  be  late,  no  doubt.  I 
shall  come  back  again  in  an  hour,"  and  the  old  man  went 
out.  Insensible  as  he  was  to  everything  but  the  clink  of 
money  and  the  glitter  of  gold,  he  left  Mme.  Chardon  without 
caring  to  notice  the  effect  of  the  shock  that  he  had  given  her. 

Mme.  Chardon  had  changed  so  greatly  during  the  last  eigh- 
teen months  that  in  that  short  time  she  no  longer  looked  like 
the  same  woman.  The  troubles  hanging  over  both  of  her 
children,  her  abortive  hopes  for  Lucien,  the  unexpected  de- 
terioration in  one  in  whose  powers  and  honesty  she  had  for  so 
long  believed — all  these  things  had  told  heavily  upon  her. 
Mme.  Chardon  was  not  only  noble  by  birth,  she  was  noble 
by  nature  ;  she  idolized  her  children  ;  consequently,  during 
the  last  six  months  she  had  suffered  as  never  before  since  her 
widowhood.  Lucien  might  have  borne  the  name  of  Lucien 
de  Rubempre  by  royal  letters-patent  ;  he  might  have  founded 
the  family  anew,  revived  the  title,  and  borne  the  arms ;  he 
might  have  made  a  great  name — he  had  thrown  the  chance 
away ;  nay,  he  had  fallen  into  the  mire  ! 

For  Mme.  Chardon  the  mother  was  a  harder  judge  than 
Eve  the  sister.  When  she  heard  of  the  bills,  she  looked  upon 
Lucien  as  lost.  A  mother  is  often  fain  to  shut  her  eyes,  but 
she  always  knows  the  child  that  she  held  at  her  breast,  the 
child  that  has  been  always  with  her  in  the  house  ;  and  so  when 
Eve  and  David  discussed  Lucien's  chances  of  success  in  Paris, 
and  Lucien's  mother  to  all  appearance  shared  Eve's  illusions, 
in  her  inmost  heart  there  was  a  tremor  of  fear  lest  David 
should  be  right,  for  her  mother's  consciousness  bore  witness 
to  the  truth  of  his  words.  So  well  did  she  know  Eve's  sensi- 
tive nature  that  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  speak  of  her 
fears  ;  she  was  obliged  to  choke  them  down  and  keep  such 
silence  as  mothers  alone  can  keep  when  they  know  how  to 
love  their  children. 

And  Eve,  on  her  side,  had  watched  her  mother,  and  saw 
the  ravages  of  hidden  grief  with  a  feeling  of  dread  ;  her 


270  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

mother  was  not  growing  old,  she  was  failing  from  day  to  day. 
Mother  and  daughter  lived  a  life  of  generous  deception,  and 
neither  was  deceived.  The  brutal  old  vine-grower's  speech 
was  the  last  drop  that  filled  the  cup  of  affliction  to  overflow- 
ing. The  words  struck  a  chill  to  Mme.  Chardon's  heart. 

"  Here  is  my  mother,  monsieur,"  said  Eve,  and  the  abbe, 
looking  up,  saw  a  white-haired  woman  with  a  face  as  thin  and 
worn  as  the  features  of  some  aged  nun,  and  yet  grown  beauti- 
ful with  the  calm  and  sweet  expression  that  devout  submission 
gives  to  the  faces  of  women  who  walk  by  the  will  of  God, 
as  the  saying  is.  Then  the  abbe  understood  the  lives  of  the 
mother  and  daughter,  and  had  no  more  sympathy  left  for 
Lucien ;  he  shuddered  to  think  of  all  that  the  victims  had 
endured. 

"  Mother,"  said  Eve,  drying  her  eyes  as  she  spoke,  "  poor 
Lucien  is  not  very  far  away,  he  is  at  Marsac. ' ' 

"  And  why  is  he  not  here  ?  "  asked  Mme.  de  Chardon. 

Then  the  abbe  told  the  whole  story  as  Lucien  had  told  it 
to  him — the  misery  of  the  journey,  the  troubles  of  the  last 
days  in  Paris.  He  described  the  poet's  agony  of  mind  when 
he  heard  of  the  havoc  wrought  at  home  by  his  imprudence, 
and  his  apprehension  as  to  the  reception  awaiting  him  at 
AngoulSme. 

"  He  has  doubts  of  us ;  has  it  come  to  this  ?  "  asked  Mme. 
Chardon. 

"  The  unhappy  young  man  has  come  back  to  you  on  foot, 
enduring  the  most  terrible  hardships  by  the  way ;  he  is  pre- 
pared to  enter  the  humblest  walks  in  life — if  so  he  may  make 
reparation." 

"Monsieur,"  Lucien's  sister  said,  "in  spite  of  the  wrong 
he  has  done  us,  I  love  my  brother  still,  as  we  love  the  dead 
body  when  the  soul  has  left  it ;  and  even  so,  I  love  him  more 
than  many  sisters  love  their  brothers.  He  has  made  us  poor 
indeed ;  but  let  him  come  to  us,  he  shall  share  the  last  crust 
of  bread,  anything,  indeed,  that  he  has  left  us.  Oh,  if  he  had 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  271 

never  left  us,  monsieur,  we  should  not  have  lost  our  heart's 
treasure." 

"And  the  woman  who  took  him  from  us  brought  him  back 
on  her  carriage!"  exclaimed  Mme.  Chardon.  "He  went 
away  sitting  by  Madame  de  Bargeton's  side  in  her  caleche, 
and  he  came  back  behind  it." 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you?"  asked  the  good  cure,  seek- 
ing an  opportunity  to  take  leave. 

"A  wound  in  the  purse  is  not  fatal,  they  say,  monsieur," 
said  Mme.  Chardon,  "  but  the  patient  must  be  his  own 
doctor." 

"If  you  have  sufficient  influence  with  my  father-in-law  to 
induce  him  to  help  his  son,  you  would  save  a  whole  family," 
said  Eve. 

"  He  has  no  belief  in  you,  and  he  seemed  to  me  to  be  very 
much  exasperated  against  your  husband,"  answered  the  old 
cure.  He  retained  an  impression,  from  the  ex-pressman's 
rambling  talk,  that  the  Sechards'  affairs  were  a  kind  of  wasps' 
nest  with  which  it  was  imprudent  to  meddle,  and,  his  mission 
being  fulfilled,  he  went  to  dine  with  his  nephew  Postel.  That 
worthy,  like  the  rest  of  Angouleme,  maintained  that  the  father 
was  in  the  right,  and  soon  dissipated  any  little  benevolence 
that  the  old  gentleman  was  disposed  to  feel  toward  the  son 
and  his  family. 

"With  those  that  squander  money  something  may  be 
done,"  concluded  little  Postel,  "but  those  that  make  experi- 
ments are  the  ruin  of  you." 

The  cure  went  home,  his  curiosity  was  thoroughly  satisfied, 
and  this  is  the  end  and  object  of  the  exceeding  interest  taken 
in  other  peoples'  business  in  the  provinces.  In  the  course  of 
the  evening  the  poet  was  duly  informed  of  all  that  had  passed 
in  the  Sechard  family,  and  the  journey  was  represented  as  a 
pilgrimage  undertaken  from  motives  of  the  purest  charity. 

"You  have  run  your  brother-in-law  and  sister  into  debt  to 
the  amount  of  ten  or  twelve  thousand  francs,"  said  the  abb6, 


272  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

as  he  drew  to  an  end,  "  and  nobody  hereabouts  has  that 
trifling  amount  to  lend  a  neighbor,  my  dear  sir.  We  are  not 
rich  in  Angoumois.  When  you  spoke  to  me  of  your  bills,  I 
thought  that  a  much  smaller  amount  was  involved." 

Lucien  thanked  the  old  man  for  his  good  offices.  "The 
promise  of  forgiveness  which  you  have  brought  is  for  me  a 
priceless  gift." 

Very  early  the  next  morning  Lucien  set  out  from  Marsac, 
and  reached  Angouleme  toward  nine  o'clock.  He  carried 
nothing  but  his  walking-stick ;  the  short  jacket  that  he  wore 
was  considerably  the  worse  for  his  journey,  his  black  trousers 
were  whitened  with  dust,  and  a  pair  of  worn  boots  told  more 
than  plainly  that  their  owner  belonged  to  the  hapless  tribe 
of  tramps.  He  knew  well  enough  that  the  contrast  between 
his  departure  and  return  was  bound  to  strike  his  fellow-towns- 
men; he  did  not  try  to  hide  the  fact  from  himself.  But  just 
then,  with  his  heart  swelling  beneath  the  oppression  of  re- 
morse awakened  in  him  by  the  old  cure's  story,  he  accepted 
his  punishment  for  the  moment,  and  made  up  his  mind  to 
brave  the  eyes  of  his  acquaintances.  Within  himself  he  said, 
"  I  am  behaving  heroically." 

Poetic  temperaments  of  this  stamp  begin  as  their  own  dupes. 
He  walked  up  through  L'Houmeau,  shame  at  the  manner  of 
his  return  struggling  with  the  charm  of  old  associations  as  he 
went.  His  heart  beat  quickly  as  he  passed  Postel's  shop; 
but,  very  luckily  for  him,  the  only  persons  inside  it  were 
L6onie  and  her  child.  And  yet  vanity  was  still  so  strong  in 
him  that  he  could  feel  glad  that  his  father's  name  had  been 
painted  out  on  the  shop-front ;  for  Postel,  since  his  marriage, 
had  redecorated  his  abode,  and  the  word  "Pharmacy  "  now 
alone  appeared  there,  in  the  Paris  fashion,  in  big  letters. 

When  Lucien  reached  the  steps  by  the  Palet  Gate  he  felt 
the  influence  of  his  native  air,  his  misfortunes  no  longer 
weighed  upon  him.  "I  shall  see  them  again!"  he  said  to 
himSfelf,  with  a  thrill  of  delight. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  273 

He  reached  the  Place  du  Murier  and  had  not  met  a  soul, 
a  piece  of  luck  he  scarcely  hoped  for,  he  who  once  had  gone 
about  his  native  place  with  a  conqueror's  air.  Marion  and 
Kolb,  on  guard  at  the  door,  flew  out  upon  the  steps,  crying 
out,  "Here  he  is  !  " 

Lucien  saw  the  familiar  workshop  and  courtyard,  and  on  the 
staircase  met  his  mother  and  sister,  and  for  a  moment,  while 
their  arms  were  about  him,  all  three  almost  forgot  their 
troubles.  In  family  life  we  almost  always  compound  with 
our  misfortunes ;  we  make  a  sort  of  bed  to  rest  upon ;  and, 
if  it  is  hard,  hope  makes  it  tolerable.  If  Lucien  looked  the 
picture  of  despair,  poetic  charm  was  not  wanting  to  the  pic- 
ture. His  face  had  been  tanned  by  the  sunlight  of  the  open 
road,  and  the  deep  sadness  visible  in  his  features  overshadowed 
his  poet's  brow.  The  change  in  him  told  so  plainly  of  suffer- 
ings endured,  his  face  was  so  worn  by  sharp  misery,  that  no 
one  could  help  pitying  him.  Imagination  had  fared  forth 
into  the  world  and  found  sad  reality  at  the  home-coming. 
Eve  was  smiling  in  the  midst  of  her  joy,  as  the  saints  smile 
upon  martyrdom.  The  face  of  a  young  and  very  fair  woman 
grows  sublimely  beautiful  at  the  touch  of  grief;  Lucien  re- 
membered the  innocent  girlish  face  that  he  saw  last  before  he 
went  to  Paris,  and  the  look  of  gravity  that  had  come  over  it 
spoke  so  eloquently  that  he  could  not  but  feel  a  painful  im- 
pression. The  first  quick,  natural  outpouring  of  affection 
was  followed  at  once  by  a  reaction  on  either  side  ;  they  were 
afraid  to  speak  ;  and,  when  Lucien  almost  involuntarily  looked 
round  for  another  who  should  have  been  there,  Eve  burst  into 
tears  and  Lucien  did  the  same,  but  Mme.  Chardon's  haggard 
face  showed  no  sign  of  emotion.  Eve  rose  to  her  feet  and 
went  downstairs,  partly  to  spare  her  brother  a  word  of  re- 
proach, partly  to  speak  to  Marion. 

"Lucien  is  so  fond  of  strawberries,  child,  we  must  find 
some  strawberries  for  him." 

"  Oh,  I  was  sure  that  you  would  want  to  welcome  Monsieur 
18 


274  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Lucien ;  you  shall  have  a  nice  little  breakfast  and  a  good  din- 
ner, too." 

"Lucien,"  said  Mme.  Chardon  when  the  mother  and  son 
were  left  alone,  "  you  have  a  great  deal  to  repair  here.  You 
went  away  that  we  all  might  be  proud  of  you ;  you  have 
plunged  us  into  want.  You  have  all  but  destroyed  your 
brother's  opportunity  of  making  a  fortune  that  he  only  cared 
to  win  for  the  sake  of  his  new  family.  Nor  is  this  all  that  you 
have  destroyed "  said  the  mother. 

There  was  a  dreadful  pause ;  Lucien  took  his  mother's  re- 
proaches in  silence. 

"Now  begin  to  work,"  Mme.  Chardon  went  on  more 
gently.  "You  tried  to  revive  the  noble  family  of  whom  I 
come  ;  I  do  not  blame  you  for  it.  But  the  man  who  under- 
takes such  a  task  needs  money  above  all  things,  and  must  bear 
a  high  heart  in  him ;  both  were  wanting  in  your  case.  We 
believed  in  you  once  ;  our  belief  has  been  shaken.  This  was 
a  hard-working,  contented  household,  making  its  way  with 
difficulty ;  you  have  troubled  their  peace.  The  first  offense 
may  be  forgiven,  but  it  must  be  the  last.  We  are  in  a  very 
difficult  position  here;  you  must  be  careful  and  take  your 
sister's  advice,  Lucien.  The  school  of  trouble  is  a  very  hard 
one,  but  Eve  has  learned  much  by  her  lessons ;  she  has  grown 
grave  and  thoughtful ;  she  is  a  mother.  In  her  devotion  to 
our  dear  David  she  has  taken  all  the  family  burdens  upon  her- 
self ;  indeed,  through  your  wrong-doing,  she  has  come  to  be 
my  only  comfort." 

"You  might  be  still  more  severe,  my  mother,"  Lucien 
said,  as  he  kissed  her.  "I  accept  your  forgiveness,  for  I  will 
not  need  it  a  second  time." 

Eve  came  into  the  room,  saw  her  brother's  humble  attitude, 
and  knew  that  he  had  been  forgiven.  Her  kindness  brought 
a  smile  for  him  to  her  lips,  and  Lucien  answered  with  tear- 
filled  eyes.  A  living  presence  acts  like  a  charm,  changing 
the  most  hostile  positions  of  lovers  or  of  families,  no  matter 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  275 

how  just  the  resentment.  Is  it  that  affection  finds  out  the 
ways  of  the  heart,  and  we  love  to  fall  into  them  again  ?  Does 
the  phenomenon  come  within  the  province  of  the  science  of 
magnetism  ?  Or  is  it  reason  that  tells  us  that  we  must  either 
forgive  or  never  see  each  other  again  ?  Whether  the  cause  be 
referred  to  mental,  physical,  or  spiritual  conditions,  every  one 
knows  the  effect ;  every  one  has  felt  that  the  looks,  the  actions 
or  gestures  of  the  beloved  awaken  some  vestige  of  tenderness 
in  those  most  deeply  sinned  against  and  grievously  wronged. 
Though  it  is  hard  for  the  mind  to  forget,  though  we  still 
smart  under  the  injury,  the  heart  returns  to  its  allegiance  in 
spite  of  all.  Poor  Eve  listened  to  her  brother's  confidences 
until  breakfast-time  ;  and,  whenever  she  looked  at  him,  she 
was  no  longer  mistress  of  her  eyes;  in  that  intimate  talk  she 
could  not  control  her  voice.  And  with  the  comprehension 
of  the  conditions  of  literary  life  in  Paris,  she  understood  that 
the  struggle  had  been  too  much  for  Lucien's  strength.  The 
poet's  delight  as  he  caressed  his  sister's  child,  his  deep  grief 
over  David's  absence,  mingled  with  joy  at  seeing  his  country 
and  his  own  folk  again,  the  melancholy  words  that  he  let  fall, 
— all  these  things  combined  to  make  that  day  a  festival. 
When  Marion  brought  in  the  strawberries,  he  was  touched  to 
see  that  Eve  had  remembered  his  taste  in  spite  of  her  distress  ; 
and  she,  his  sister,  must  make  ready  a  room  for  the  prodigal 
brother  and  busy  herself  for  Lucien.  It  was  a  truce,  as  it 
were,  to  misery.  Old  Sechard  himself  assisted  to  bring  about 
this  revulsion  of  feeling  in  the  two  women — "  You  are  mak- 
ing as  much  of  him  as  if  he  were  bringing  you  any  amount  of 
money  !  " 

"  And  what  has  my  brother  done  that  we  should  not  make 
much  of  him?  "  cried  Eve,  jealously  screening  Lucien. 

Nevertheless,  when  the  first  expansion  was  over,  shades  of 
truth  came  out.  It  was  not  long  before  Lucien  felt  the  differ- 
ence between  the  old  affection  and  the  new.  Eve  respected 
David  from  the  depths  of  her  heart;  Lucien  was  beloved  for 


276  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

his  own  sake,  as  we  love  a  mistress  still  in  spite  of  the  disasters 
she  causes.  Esteem,  the  very  foundation  on  which  affection 
is  based,  is  the  solid  stuff  to  which  affection  owes,  I  know  not 
what,  of  certainty  and  security  by  which  we  live  ;  and  this  was 
lacking  now  between  Mme.  Chardon  and  her  son,  between 
the  sister  and  brother.  Mother  and  daughter  did  not  put  en- 
tire confidence  in  him,  as  they  would  have  done  if  he  had 
not  lost  his  honor;  and  he  felt  this.  The  opinion  expressed 
in  d' Arthez's  letter  was  Eve's  own  estimate  of  her  brother ; 
unconsciously  she  revealed  it  by  her  manner,  tones,  and  ges- 
tures. Oh  !  Lucien  was  pitied,  that  was  true  ;  but  as  for  all 
that  he  had  been,  the  pride  of  the  household,  the  great  man 
of  the  family,  the  hero  of  the  fireside — all  this,  like  their 
fair  hopes  of  him,  was  gone,  never  to  return.  They  were  so 
afraid  of  his  heedlessness  that  he  was  not  told  where  David 
was  hidden.  Lucien  wanted  to  see  his  brother ;  but  this  Eve, 
insensible  to  the  caresses  which  accompanied  his  curious  ques- 
tionings, was  not  the  Eve  of  L'Houmeau,  for  whom  a  glance 
from  him  had  been  an  order  that  must  be  obeyed.  When 
Lucien  spoke  of  making  reparation,  and  talked  as  though  he 
could  rescue  David,  Eve  only  answered — 

"  Do  not  interfere  ;  we  have  enemies  of  the  most  treach- 
erous and  dangerous  kind." 

Lucien  tossed  his  head,  as  who  should  say,  "  I  have  meas- 
ured myself  against  Parisians,"  and  the  look  in  his  sister's 
eyes  said  unmistakably,  "  Yes,  but  you  were  defeated." 

"  Nobody  cares  for  me  now,"  Lucien  thought.  "In  the 
home  circle,  as  in  the  world  without,  success  is  always  a 
necessity." 

The  poet  tried  to  explain  their  lack  of  confidence  in  him ; 
he  had  not  been  at  home  two  days  before  a  feeling  of  vexation 
rather  than  of  angry  bitterness  gained  hold  on  him.  He 
applied  Parisian  standards  to  the  quiet,  temperate  existence 
of  the  provinces,  quite  forgetting  that  the  narrow,  patient 
life  of  the  household  was  the  result  of  his  own  misdoing. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  277 

"They  are  bourgeoises,  they  cannot  understand  me,"  he 
said,  setting  himself  apart  from  his  sister  and  mother  and 
David,  now  that  they  could  no  longer  be  deceived  as  to  his 
real  character  and  his  future. 

Many  troubles  and  shocks  of  fortune  had  quickened  the 
intuitive  sense  in  both  the  women.  Eve  and  Mme.  Chardon 
guessed  the  thoughts  in  Lucien's  inmost  soul ;  they  felt  that 
he  misjudged  them  ;  they  also  saw  him  mentally  isolating 
himself. 

"Paris  has  changed  him  very  much,"  they  said  between 
themselves.  They  were  indeed  reaping  the  harvest  of  egoism 
which  they  themselves  had  fostered. 

It  was  inevitable  but  that  the  leaven  should  work  in  all 
three ;  and  this  most  of  all  in  Lucien,  because  he  felt  that  he 
was  so  heavily  to  blame.  As  for  Eve,  she  was  just  the  kind 
of  sister  to  beg  an  erring  brother  to  "Forgive  me  for  your 
trespasses;"  but  when  the  union  of  two  souls  has  been  as 
perfect  since  life's  very  beginning,  as  it  had  been  with  Eve 
and  Lucien,  any  blow  dealt  to  that  fair  ideal  is  fatal.  Scoun- 
drels can  draw  knives  on  each  other  and  make  it  up  again 
afterward,  while  a  look  or  a  word  is  enough  to  sunder  two 
lovers  for  ever.  In  the  recollection  of  an  almost  perfect  life 
of  heart  and  heart  lies  the  secret  of  many  an  estrangement 
that  none  can  explain.  Two  may  live  together  without  full 
trust  in  their  hearts  if  only  their  past  holds  no  memories  of 
complete  and  unclouded  love  ;  but  for  those  who  once  have 
known  that  intimate  life,  it  becomes  intolerable  to  keep  per- 
petual watch  over  looks  and  words.  Great  poets  know  this ; 
Paul  and  Virginie  die  before  youth  is  over;  can  we  think  of 
Paul  and  Virginie  estranged.  Let  us  note  that,  to  the  honor 
of  Lucien  and  Eve,  the  grave  injury  done  was  not  the  source 
of  the  pain  ;  it  was  entirely  a  matter  of  feeling  upon  either 
side,  for  the  poet  in  fault,  as  for  the  sister  who  was  in  no  way 
to  blame.  Things  had  reached  the  point  when  the  slightest 
misunderstanding,  or  little  quarrel,  or  a  fresh  disappointment 


278  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

in  Lucien  would  end  in  final  estrangement.     Money  difficul- 
ties may  be  arranged,  but  feelings  are  inexorable. 

Next  day  Lucien  received  a  copy  of  the  local  paper.  He 
turned  pale  with  pleasure  when  he  saw  his  name  at  the  head 
of  one  of  the  first  "  leaders"  in  that  highly  respectable  sheet, 
which,  like  the  provincial  academies  that  Voltaire  compared 
to  a  well-bred  miss,  was  never  talked  about. 

"Let  Franche-Comte  boast  of  giving  the  light  to  Victor 
Hugo,  to  Charles  Nodier,  and  Cuvier,"  ran  the  article, 
"  Brittany  of  producing  a  Chateaubriand  and  a  Lammenais, 
Normandy  of  Casimir  Delavigne,  and  Touraine  of  the  author 
of  '  Eloa ; '  Angoumois  that  gave  birth,  in  the  days  of 
Louis  XIII.,  to  our  illustrious  fellow-countryman  Guez,  better 
known  under  the  name  of  Balzac  * — our  Angoumois  need  no 
longer  envy  Limousin  her  Dupuytren,  nor  Auvergne,  the 
country  of  Montlosier,  nor  Bordeaux,  birthplace  of  so  many 
great  men ;  for  we  too  have  our  poet !  The  writer  of  the  beau- 
tiful sonnets  entitled  the  '  Marguerites '  unites  his  poet's 
fame  to  the  distinction  of  a  prose  writer ;  for  to  him  we  also 
owe  the  magnificent  romance  of  *  The  Archer  of  Charles 
IX. '  Some  day  our  nephews  will  be  proud  to  be  the  fellow- 
townsmen  of  Lucien  Chardon,  a  rival  of  Petrarch !  !  !  " 

(The  country  newspapers  of  those  days  were  sown  with 
notes  of  exclamation,  as  reports  of  American  election  speeches 
are  studded  with  "  cheers  "  in  brackets.) 

"  In  spite  of  his  brilliant  success  in  Paris,  our  young  poet 
has  not  forgotten  the  H6tel  de  Bargeton,  the  cradle  of  his 
triumphs ;  nor  the  Angoumoisin  aristocracy,  who  first  ap- 
plauded his  poetry;  nor  the  fact  that  the  wife  of  M.  le  Comte 
du  Chitelet,  our  prefect,  encouraged  his  early  footsteps  in  the 
pathway  of  the  Muses.  He  has  come  back  among  us  once 
more  !  All  L'Houmeau  was  thrown  into  excitement  yesterday 
by  the  appearance  of  our  Lucien  de  Rubempre.  The  news 
*  Sieur  Jean  Louis  Guez  de  Balzac. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  279 

of  his  return  produced  a  profound  sensation  throughout  the 
town.  Angouleme  certainly  will  not  allow  L'Houmeau  to  be 
beforehand  in  doing  honor  to  the  poet  who  in  journalism  and 
literature  has  so  gloriously  represented  our  town  in  Paris. 
Lucien  de  Rubempre,  a  religous  and  Royalist  poet,  has  braved 
the  fury  of  parties ;  he  has  come  home,  it  is  said,  for  repose 
after  the  fatigue  of  a  struggle  which  would  try  the  strength  of 
an  even  greater  intellectual  athlete  than  a  poet  and  a  dreamer. 

"  There  is  some  talk  of  restoring  our  great  poet  to  the  title 
of  the  illustrious  house  of  de  Rubempre',  of  which  his  mother, 
Madame  Chardon,  is  the  last  survivor,  and  it  is  added  that 
Mme.  la  Comtesse  du  Chatelet  was  the  first  to  think  of  this 
eminently  politic  idea.  The  revival  of  an  ancient  and  al- 
most extinct  family  by  young  talent  and  newly  won  fame  is 
another  proof  that  the  immortal  author  of  the  Charter  still 
cherishes  the  desire  expressed  by  the  words  '  Union  and  ob- 
livion.' 

"  Our  poet  is  staying  with  his  sister,  Mme.  Sechard." 

Under  the  heading  "Angouleme  "  followed  some  items  of 
news: 

"  Our  Prefect,  M.  le  Comte  du  Chatelet,  Gentleman  in 
Ordinary  to  His  Majesty,  has  just  been  appointed  Extraordi- 
nary Councilor  of  State. 

"  All  the  authorities  called  yesterday  on  M.  le  Prefect. 

"  Mme.  la  Comtesse  du  Chatelet  will  receive  on  Thursdays. 

"  The  Mayor  of  Escarbas,  M.  de  Negrepelisse,  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  younger  branch  of  the  d'Espard  family,  and 
father  of  Mme.  du  Chatelet,  recently  raised  to  the  rank  of  a 
Count  and  peer  of  France  and  a  Commander  of  the  Royal 
Order  of  St.  Louis,  has  been  nominated  for  the  presidency 
of  the  electoral  college  of  AngoulSme  at  the  forthcoming 
elections." 

"  There  !  "  said  Lucien,  taking  the  paper  to  his  sister.    Eve 


280  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

read  the  article  with  attention,  and  returned  the  sheet  with  a 
thoughtful  air. 

"What  do  you  say  to  that?"  asked  he,  surprised  at  a  re- 
serve that  seemed  so  like  indifference. 

"The  Cointets  are  proprietors  of  that  paper,  dear,"  she 
said  ;  "  they  put  in  exactly  what  they  please,  and  it  is  not  at 
all  likely  that  the  prefecture  or  the  palace  have  forced  their 
hands.  Can  you  imagine  your  old  rival  the  prefect  would  be 
generous  enough  to  sing  your  praises  ?  Have  you  forgotten 
that  the  Cointets  are  suing  us  under  Metivier's  name  ?  and 
that  they  are  trying  to  turn  David's  discovery  to  their  own 
advantage  ?  I  do  not  know  the  source  of  this  paragraph,  but 
it  makes  me  uneasy.  You  used  to  rouse  nothing  but  envious 
feeling  and  hatred  here  ;  a  prophet  has  no  honor  in  his  own 
country,  and  they  slandered  you,  and  now  in  a  moment  it  is 
changed " 

"You  do  not  know  the  vanity  of  country  towns,"  said 
Lucien.  "A  whole  little  town  in  the  south  turned  out  not 
so  long  ago  to  welcome  a  young  man  that  had  won  the  first 
prize  in  some  competition;  they  looked  on  him  as  a  budding 
great  man." 

"Listen,  dear  Lucien;  I  do  not  want  to  preach  to  you,  I 
will  say  everything  in  a  very  few  words — you  must  suspect 
every  least  little  thing  here." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Lucien,  but  he  was  surprised  at  his 
sister's  lack  of  enthusiasm.  He  himself  was  full  of  delight  to 
find  his  humiliating  and  shame-stricken  return  to  Angoulgme 
changed  into  a  triumph  in  this  way. 

"You  have  no  belief  in  the  little  fame  that  has  cost  so 
dear !  "  he  said  again  after  a  long  silence.  Something  like  a 
storm  had  been  gathering  in  his  heart  during  the  past  hour. 
For  all  answer  Eve  gave  him  a  look,  and  Lucien  felt  ashamed 
of  his  accusation. 

Dinner  was  scarcely  over  when  a  messenger  came  from  the 
prefecture  with  a  note  addressed  to  M.  Chardon.  That  note 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  281 

appeared  to  decide  the  day  for  the  poet's  vanity ;  the  world 
contending  against  the  family  for  him  had  won : 

V 

"  M.  le  Comte  Sixte  du  Chatelet  and  Mme.  la  Comtesse  du 
Ch^telet  request  the  honor  of  M.  Lucien  Chardon's  company 
at  dinner  on  the  fifteenth  of  September.  R.  S.  V.  P." 

Enclosed  with  the  invitation  there  was  a  card — 

LE  COMTE  SIXTE  DU  CHATELET, 

Gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber,  Prefect  of  the  Charente, 
Councilor  of  State. 

"You  are  in  favor,"  said  old  Sechard ;  "they  are  talking 
about  you  in  the  town  as  if  you  were  somebody  !  AngoulSme 
and  L'Houmeau  are  disputing  as  to  which  shall  twist  wreaths 
for  you." 

"Eve,  dear,"  Lucien  whispered  to  his  Sister,  "  I  am  exactly 
in  the  same  condition  as  I  was  before  in  L'Houmeau  when 
Madame  de  Bargeton  sent  me  the  first  invitation — I  have  not 
a  dress  suit  for  the  prefect's  dinner-party." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  to  accept  the  invitation  ?  "  Eve  asked 
in  alarm,  and  a  dispute  sprang  up  between  the  brother  and 
sister.  Eve's  provincial  good  sense  told  her  that  if  you  appear 
in  society,  it  must  be  with  a  smiling  face  and  faultless  costume. 
"What  will  come  of  the  prefect's  dinner?"  she  wondered. 
"  What  has  Lucien  to  do  with  the  great  people  of  Angoul&me  ? 
Are  they  plotting  something  against  him  ?  "  but  she  kept  these 
thoughts  to  herself. 

Lucien  spoke  the  last  word  at  bedtime :  "  You  do  not  know 
my  influence.  The  prefect's  wife  stands  in  fear  of  a  journalist ; 
and,  beside,  Louise  de  Negrepelisse  lives  on  in  the  Comtesse 
du  Chitelet,  and  a  woman  with  her  influence  can  rescue  David. 
I  am  going  to  tell  her  about  my  brother's  invention,  and  it 
would  be  a  mere  nothing  to  her  to  obtain  a  subsidy  of  ten 
thousand  francs  from  the  government  for  him." 


282  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night  the  whole  household  was 
awakened  by  the  town  band,  reinforced  by  the  military  band 
from  the '  barracks.  The  Piece  du  Murier  was  full  of  people. 
The  young  men  of  Angouleme  were  giving  Lucien  Chardon 
de  Rubempre  a  serenade.  Lucien  went  to  his  sister's  window 
and  made  a  speech  after  the  last  performance. 

"I  thank  my  fellow-townsmen  for  the  honor  that  they  do 
me,"  he  said  in  the  midst  of  a  great  silence;  "I  will  strive 
to  be  worthy  of  it ;  they  will  pardon  me  if  I  say  no  more ;  I 
am  so  much  moved  by  this  incident- that  I  cannot  speak." 

"  Hurrah  for  the  writer  of  '  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX.  !' 
Hurrah  for  the  poet  of  the  '  Marguerites  ! '  Long  live  Lucien 
de  Rubempre  ! ' ' 

After  these  three  salvoes,  taken  up  by  some  few  voices,  three 
crowns  and  a  quantity  of  bouquets  were  adroitly  flung  into  the 
room  through  the  open  window.  Ten  minutes  later  the  Place 
du  Murier  was  empty,  and  silence  prevailed  in  the  streets. 

"I  would  rather  have  ten  thousand  francs,"  said  old 
S^chard,  fingering  the  bouquets  and  garlands  with  a  satirical 
expression.  "  You  gave  them  daisies,  and  they  give  you 
posies  in  return  ;  you  deal  in  flowers." 

"  So  that  is  your  opinion  of  the  honors  shown  me  by  my 
fellow-townsmen,  is  it?  "  asked  Lucien.  All  his  melancholy 
had  left  him,  his  face  was  radiant  with  good-humor.  "If  you 
knew  mankind,  Papa  Sechard,  you  would  see  that  no  moment 
in  one's  life  comes  twice.  Such  a  triumph  as  this  can  only  be 
due  to  genuine  enthusiasm  !  My  dear  mother,  my  good  sister, 
this  wipes  out  many  mortifications." 

Lucien  kissed  them ;  for  when  joy  overflows  like  a  torrent 
flood,  we  are  fain  to  pour  it  out  into  a  friend's  heart. 
"When  an  author  is  intoxicated  with  success,  he  will  hug 
his  porter  if  there  is  nobody  else  on  hand,"  according  to 
Bixiou. 

"Why,  darling,  why  are  you  crying?"  he  said,  looking 
into  Eve's  face.  "Ah  !  I  know,  you  are  crying  for  joy  !  " 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  283 

"Oh  me  !  "  said  Eve,  when  she  and  her  mother  were  left 
alone  in  the  bedroom,  "  there  is  a  pretty  woman  of  the  worst 
kind  in  a  poet,  I  think." 

"You  are  right,"  said  her  mother,  shaking  her  head  as 
she  spoke.  "  Lucien  has  forgotten  everything  already ;  not 
merely  his  own  troubles,  but  ours  as  well." 

Mother  and  daughter  separated,  and  neither  dared  to  utter 
all  her  thoughts. 

In  a  country  eaten  up  with  the  kind  of  social  insubordina- 
tion disguised  by  the  word  equality,  a  triumph  of  any  kind 
whatsoever  is  a  sort  of  miracle  which  requires,  like  some  other 
miracles  for  that  matter,  the  cooperation  of  skilled  labor. 
Out  of  ten  ovations  offered  to  ten  living  men,  selected  for  this 
distinction  by  a  grateful  country,  you  may  be  quite  sure  that 
nine  are  given  from  considerations  connected  as  remotely  as 
possible  with  the  conspicuous  merits  of  the  renowned  recip- 
ient. What  was  Voltaire's  apotheosis  at  the  Theitre-Francais 
but  the  triumph  of  eighteenth  century  philosophy  ?  A  tri- 
umph in  France  means  that  everybody  else  feels  that  he  is 
adorning  his  own  temples  with  the  crown  that  he  sets  on  the 
idol's  head. 

The  women's  presentiments  proved  correct.  The  distin- 
guished provincial's  reception  was  antipathetic  to  Angoumoisin 
immobility  ;  it  was  too  evidently  gotten  up  by  some  interested 
persons  or  by  enthusiastic  stage  mechanists,  a  suspicious  com- 
bination. Eve,  moreover,  like  most  of  her  sex,  was  dis- 
trustful by  instinct,  even  when  reason  failed  to  justify  her 
suspicions  to  herself.  "  Who  can  be  so  fond  of  Lucien  that 
he  could  rouse  the  town  for  him?"  she  wondered  as  she  fell 
asleep.  "  The  '  Marguerites  '  are  not  published  yet ;  how  can 
they  compliment  him  on  a  future  success?" 

The  ovation  was,  in  fact,  the  work  of  Petit-Claud. 

Petit-Claud  had  dined  with  Mme.  de  Senonches,  for  the 
first  time,  on  the  evening  of  the  day  that  brought  the  Cure  of 
Marsac  to  Angouldme  with  the  news  of  Lucien's  return. 


284  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

That  same  evening  he  made  formal  application  for  the  hand 
of  Mile,  de  la  Haye.  It  was  a  family  dinner,  one  of  the 
solemn  occasions  marked  not  so  much  by  the  number  of  the 
guests  as  by  the  splendor  of  their  toilets.  Consciousness  of 
the  performance  weighs  upon  the  family  party,  and  every 
countenance  looks  significant.  Franchise  was  on  exhibition. 
Mme.  de  Senonches  had  sported  her  most  elaborate  costume 
for  the  occasion  ;  M.  du  Hautoy  wore  a  black  coat ;  M.  de 
Senonches  had  returned  from  his  visit  to  the  Pimentels  on  the 
receipt  of  a  note  from  his  wife,  informing  him  that  Mme.  du 
Chatelet  was  to  appear  at  their  house  for  the  first  time  since 
her  arrival,  and  that  a  suitor  in  form  for  Franchise  would 
appear  on  the  scenes.  Boniface  Cointet  also  was  there,  in  his 
best  maroon  coat  of  clerical -cut,  with  a  diamond  pin  worth 
six  thousand  francs  displayed  in  his  shirt  frill — the  revenge  of 
the  rich  merchant  upon  a  proud  but  poverty-stricken  aristoc- 
racy. 

Petit-Claud  himself,  scoured  and  combed,  had  carefully 
removed  his  gray  hairs,  but  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  his 
weazened  air.  The  puny  little  man  of  law,  tightly  buttoned 
into  his  clothes,  reminded  you  of  a  torpid  viper ;  for  if  hope 
had  brought  a  spark  of  life  into  his  magpie's  eyes,  his  face 
was  icily  rigid,  and  so  well  did  he  assume  an  air  of  gravity 
that  an  ambitious  public  prosecutor  could  not  have  been  more 
dignified. 

Mme.  de  Senonches  had  told  her  intimate  friends  that  her 
ward  would  meet  her  betrothed  that  evening,  and  that  Mme. 
du  Chatelet  would  appear  at  the  Hotel  de  Senonches  for  the 
first  time  ;  and  having  particularly  requested  them  to  keep 
these  matters  secret,  she  expected  to  find  her  rooms  crowded. 
The  Comte  and  Comtesse  du  Chatelet  had  left  cards  every- 
where officially,  but  they  meant  the  honor  of  a  personal  visit 
to  play  a  part  in  their  policy.  So  aristocratic  Angouleme  was 
in  such  a  prodigious  ferment  of  curiosity  that  certain  of  the 
Chandour  camp  proposed  to  go  to  the  Hotel  de  Bargeton  that 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  285 

evening.     (They  persistently  declined  to  call  the  house  by  its 
new  name.) 

Proofs  of  the  Countess'  influence  had  stirred  up  ambition 
in  many  quarters ;  and  not  only  so,  it  was  said  that  the  lady 
had  changed  so  much  for  the  better  that  everybody  wished  to 
see  and  judge  for  himself.  Petit-Claud  learned  great  news  on 
the  way  to  the  house ;  Cointet  told  him  that  Zephirine  had 
asked  leave  to  present  her  dear  Framboise's  betrothed  to  the 
Countess,  and  that  the  Countess  had  granted  the  favor.  Petit- 
Claud  had  seen  at  once  that  Lucien's  return  put  Louise  de 
Negrepelisse  in  a  false  position  ;  and  now,  in  a  moment,  he 
flattered  himself  that  he  saw  a  way  to  take  advantage  of  it. 

M.  and  Mme.  de  Senonches  had  undertaken  such  heavy 
engagements  when  they  bought  the  house,  that,  in  provincial 
fashion,  they  thought  it  imprudent  to  make  any  changes  in  it. 
So  when  Mme.  du  Chatelet  was  announced,  Zephirine  went 
up  to  her  with — "  Look,  dear  Louise,  you  are  still  in  your  old 
home!"  indicating,  as  she  spoke,  the  little  chandelier,  the 
paneled  wainscot,  and  the  furniture,  which  once  had  dazzled 
Lucien. 

"I  wish  least  of  all  to  remember  it,  dear,"  Madame  la  Pre- 
fete  answered  graciously,  looking  round  on  the  assemblage. 

Every  one  admitted  that  Louise  de  Negrepelisse  was  not 
like  the  same  woman.  If  the  provincial  had  undergone  a 
change,  the  woman  herself  had  been  transformed  by  those 
eighteen  months  in  Paris,  by  the  first  happiness  of  a  still  re- 
cent second  marriage,  and  the  kind  of  dignity  that  power 
confers.  The  Comtesse  du  Ch&telet  bore  the  same  resem- 
blance to  Mme.  de  Bargeton  that  a  girl  of  twenty  bears  to  her 
mother. 

She  wore  a  charming  cap  of  lace  and  flowers,  fastened  by  a 
diamond-headed  pin  ;  the  ringlets  that  half  hid  the  contours 
of  her  face  added  to  her  look  of  youth,  and  suited  her  style  of 
beauty.  Her  foulard  gown,  designed  by  the  celebrated  Vic- 
torine,  with  a  pointed  bodice,  exquisitely  fringed,  set  off  her 


286  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

figure  to  advantage ;  and  a  silken  face  scarf,  adroitly  thrown 
about  too  long  a  neck,  partly  concealed  her  shoulders.  She 
played  with  the  dainty  scent-bottle,  hung  by  a  chain  from  her 
bracelet ;  she  carried  her  fan  and  her  handkerchief  with  ease — 
pretty  trifles,  as  dangerous  as  a  sunken  reef  for  the  provincial 
dame.  The  refined  taste  shown  in  the  least  details,  the  car- 
riage and  manner  modeled  upon  Mme.  d'Espard,  revealed  a 
profound  study  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain. 

As  for  the  elderly  beau  of  the  Empire,  he  seemed  since  his 
marriage  to  have  followed  the  example  of  the  species  of  melon 
that  turns  from  green  to  yellow  in  a  night.  All  the  youth 
that  Sixte  had  lost  seemed  to  appear  in  his  wife's  radiant 
countenance  ;  provincial  pleasantries  passed  from  ear  to  ear, 
circulating  the  more  readily  because  the  women  were  furious 
at  the  new  superiority  of  the  sometime  queen  of  Angoulgme ; 
and  the  persistent  intruder  paid  the  penalty  of  his  wife's 
offense. 

The  rooms  were  almost  as  full  as  on  that  memorable  even- 
ing of  Lucien's  readings  from  Chenier.  Some  faces  were 
missing :  M.  de  Chandour  and  Amelie,  M.  de  Pimentel  and 
the  Rastignacs — and  M.  de  Bargeton  was  no  longer  there  ;  but 
the  bishop  came,  as  before,  with  his  vicars-general  in  his  train. 
Petit-Claud  was  much  impressed  by  the  sight  of  the  great 
world  of  Angoul&me.  Four  months  ago  he  had  no  hope  of 
entering  the  circle,  to-day  he  felt  his  detestation  of  "the 
classes  "  sensibly  diminished.  He  thought  the  Comtesse  du 
ChStelet  a  most  fascinating  woman.  "It  is  she  who  can  pro- 
cure me  the  appointment  of  deputy  public  prosecutor,"  he 
said  to  himself. 

Louise  chatted  for  an  equal  length  of  time  with  each  of  the 
women ;  her  tone  varied  with  the  importance  of  the  person 
addressed  and  the  position  taken  up  by  the  latter  with  regard 
to  her  journey  to  Paris  with  Lucien.  The  evening  was  half- 
over  when  she  withdrew  to  the  boudoir  with  the  bishop. 
Z6phirine  came  over  to  Petit-Claud,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  287 

arm.  His  heart  beat  fast  as  his  hostess  brought  him  to  the 
room  where  Lucien's  troubles  first  began  and  were  now  about 
to  come  to  a  crisis. 

"  This  is  Monsieur  Petit-Claud,  dear  ;  I  recommend  him  to 
you  the  more  warmly  because  anything  that  you  may  do  for 
him  will  doubtless  benefit  my  ward." 

"You  are  an  attorney,  are  you  not,  monsieur?"  said  the 
august  Negrepelisse,  scanning  Petit-Claud. 

"  Alas  !  yes,  Madame  la  Comtesse."  (The  son  of  the  tailor 
in  L'Houmeau  had  never  once  had  occasion  to  use  those  three 
words  in  his  life  before,  and  his  mouth  was  full  of  them.) 
"  But  it  rests  with  you,  Madame  la  Comtesse,  whether  or  not 
I  shall  act  for  the  crown.  Monsieur  Milaud  is  gone  to 
Nevers,  it  is  said " 

"  But  a  man  is  usually  second  deputy  and  then  first  deputy, 
is  he  not?"  broke  in  the  Countess.  "I  should  like  to  see 
you  in  the  first  deputy's  place  at  once.  But  I  should  like 
first  to  have  some  assurance  of  your  devotion  to  the  cause  of 
our  legitimate  sovereigns,  to  religion,  and  more  especially  to 
Monsieur  de  Villele,  if  I  am  to  interest  myself  on  your  be- 
half to  obtain  the  favor." 

Petit-Claud  came  nearer.  "Madame,"  he  said  in  her  ear, 
"  I  am  the  man  to  yield  the  King  absolute  obedience." 

"That  is  just  what  we  want  to-day,"  said  the  Countess, 
drawing  back  a  little  to  make  him  understand  that  she  had  no 
wish  for  promises  given  under  his  breath.  "So  long  as  you 
satisfy  Madame  de  Senonches,  you  can  count  upon  me,"  she 
added,  with  a  royal  movement  of  her  fan. 

Petit-Claud  looked  toward  the  door  of  the  boudoir,  and 
saw  Cointet  standing  there.  "Madame,"  he  said,  "  Lucien 
is  here,  in  AngoulSme." 

"Well,  sir?"  asked  the  Countess,  in  tones  that  would 
have  put  an  end  to  all  power  of  speech  in  an  ordinary  man. 

"  Madame  la  Comtesse  does  not  understand,"  returned 
Petit-Claud,  bringing  out  that  most  respectful  formula  again. 


<_>>S  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"  How  does  Madame  la  Comtesse  wish  that  the  great  man 
of  her  making  should  be  received  in  Angouleme  ?  There  is 
no  middle  course  ;  he  must  be  honored  or  despised  here." 

This  was  a  dilemma  to  which  Louise  de  Negrepelisse  had 
never  given  a  thought ;  it  touched  her  closely,  yet  rather  for 
the  sake  of  the  past  than  of  the  future.  And  as  for  Petit- 
Claud,  his  plan  for  arresting  David  Sechard  depended  upon 
the  lady's  actual  feelings  toward  Lucien.  He  waited. 

"Monsieur  Petit-Claud,"  said  the  Countess,  with  haughty 
dignity,  "  you  mean  to  be  on  the  side  of  the  Government. 
Learn  that  the  first  principle  of  government  is  this — never  to 
have  been  in  the  wrong,  and  that  the  instinct  of  power  and 
the  sense  of  dignity  are  even  stronger  in  women  than  in  gov- 
ernments." 

"  This  is  just  what  I  thought,  madame,"  he  answered 
quickly,  observing  the  Countess  meanwhile  with  attention  the 
more  profound  because  it  was  scarcely  visible.  "  Lucien  came 
here  in  the  depths  of  misery.  But  if  he  must  receive  an 
ovation,  I  can  compel  him  to  leave  Angouleme  by  the  means 
of  the  ovation  itself.  His  sister  and  brother-in-law,  David 
Sechard,  are  hard  pressed  for  debts." 

In  the  Countess'  haughty  face  there  was  a  swift,  barely 
perceptible  change  ;  it  was  not  satisfaction,  but  the  repres- 
sion of  satisfaction.  Surprised  that  Petit-Claud  should  have 
guessed  her  wishes,  she  gave  him  a  glance  as  she  opened  her 
fan,  and  Francoise  de  la  Haye's  entrance  at  that  moment 
gave  her  time  to  find  an  answer. 

"  It  will  not  be  long  before  you  are  public  prosecutor,  mon- 
sieur," she  said,  with  a  significant  smile.  That  speech  did 
not  commit  her  in  any  way,  but  it  was  explicit  enough. 
Francoise  had  come  in  to  thank  the  Countess. 

"  Oh  !  madame,  then  I  shall  owe  the  happiness  of  my  life 
to  you,"  she  exclaimed,  bending  girlishly  to  add  in  the 
Countess'  ear,  "  To  marry  a  petty  provincial  attorney  would 
be  like  being  burnt  by  slow  fires." 


LOST  ILLUSIONS,  289 

It  was  Francis,  with  his  knowledge  of  officialdom,  who  had 
prompted  Zephirine  to  make  this  set  upon  Louise. 

"In  the  very  earliest  days  after  promotion,"  so  the  ex- 
consul-general  told  his  fair  friend,  "everybody,  prefect,  or 
monarch,  or  man  of  business,  is  burning  to  exert  his  influence 
for  his  friends ;  but  a  patron  soon  finds  out  the  inconven- 
iences of  patronage,  and  then  turns  from  fire  to  ice.  Louise 
will  do  more  just  now  for  Petit-Claud  than  she  would  do  for 
your  husband  in  three  months'  time." 

"  Madame  la  Comtesse  is  thinking  of  all  that  our  poet's 
triumph  entails  ?"  continued  Petit-Claud.  "She  should  re- 
ceive Lucien  before  there  is  an  end  of  the  nine-days'  wonder." 

The  Countess  terminated  the  audience  with  a  bow,  and  rose 
to  speak  with  Mme.  de  Pimentel,  who  came  to  the  boudoir. 
The  news  of  old  Negrepelisse's  elevation  to  a  marquisate  had 
greatly  impressed  the  Marquise  ;  she  judged  it  expedient  to 
be  amiable  to  a  woman  so  clever  as  to  rise  the  higher  for  an 
apparent  fall. 

"  Do  tell  me,  dear,  why  you  took  the  trouble  to  put  your 
father  in  the  House  of  Peers?"  said  the  Marquise,  in  the 
course  of  a  little  confidential  conversation,  in  which  she  bent 
the  knee  before  the  superiority  of  "  her  dear  Louise." 

"They  were  all  the  more  ready  to  grant  the  favor  because 
my  father  has  no  son  to  succeed  him,  dear,  and  his  vote  will 
always  be  at  the  disposal  of  the  crown  ;  but  if  we  should  have 
sons,  I  quite  expect  that  my  oldest  will  succeed  to  his  grand- 
father's name,  title,  and  peerage." 

Mme.  de  Pimentel  saw,  to  her  annoyance,  that  it  was  idle 
to  expect  a  mother  ambitious  for  children  not  yet  in  exist- 
ence to  further  her  own  private  designs  of  raising  M.  de  Pi- 
mentel to  a  peerage. 

"I   have   the  Countess,"   Petit-Claud  told  Cointet  when 

they  came  away.     "I  can  promise  you  your  partnership.     I 

shall  be  deputy  public  prosecutor  before  the  month  is  out,  and 

S£chard  will  be  in  your  power.     Try  to  find  a  buyer  for  my 

19 


290  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

connection  ;  it  has  come  to  be  the  first  in  AngouleTne  in  my 
hands  during  the  last  five  months " 

"  Once  put  you  on  the  horse,  and  there  is  no  need  to  do 
more,"  said  Cointet,  half-jealous  of  his  own  work. 

The  causes  of  Lucien's  triumphant  reception  in  his  native 
town  must  now  be  plain  to  everybody.  Louise  du  Chatelet 
followed  the  example  of  that  King  of  France  who  left  the 
Duke  of  Orleans  unavenged ;  she  chose  to  forget  the  insults 
received  in  Paris  by  Mme.  de  Bargeton.  She  would  patronize 
Lucien,  and,  overwhelming  him  with  her  patronage,  would 
completely  crush  him  and  get  rid  of  him  by  fair  means. 
Petit-Claud  knew  the  whole  tale  of  the  cabals  in  Paris  through 
town  gossip,  and  shrewdly  guessed  how  a  woman  must  hate 
the  man  who  would  not  love  when  she  was  fain  of  his  love. 

The  ovation  justified  the  past  of  Louise  de  Negrepelisse. 
The  next  day  Petit-Claud  appeared  at  Mme.  Sechard's  house, 
heading  a  deputation  of  six  young  men  of  the  town,  all  of 
them  Lucien's  school-fellows.  He  meant  to  finish  his  work, 
to  intoxicate  Lucien  completely,  and  to  have  him  in  his  power. 
Lucien's  old  school-fellows  at  the  Angouleme  high-school 
wished  to  invite  the  author  of  the  "  Marguerites  "  and  "  The 
Archer  of  Charles  IX."  to  a  banquet  given  in  honor  of  the 
great  man  arisen  from  their  ranks. 

"Come,  this  is  your  doing,  Petit-Claud!"  exclaimed 
Lucien. 

"Your  return  has  stirred  our  conceit,"  said  Petit-Claud; 
"we  made  it  a  point  of  honor  to  get  up  a  subscription,  and 
we  will  have  a  tremendous  affair  for  you.  The  masters  and 
the  headmaster  will  be  there,  and,  at  the  present  rate,  we 
shall,  no  doubt,  have  the  authorities  too." 

"For  what  day?"  asked  Lucien. 

"Sunday  next." 

"That  is  quite  out  of  the  question,"  said  Lucien.  "I 
cannot  accept  an  invitation  for  the  next  ten  days,  but  then  I 
will  gladly " 


L  OST  ILL  USIONS.  291 

"Very  well,"  said  Petit-Claud,  "  so  be  it  then,  in  ten-days' 
time." 

Lucien  behaved  charmingly  to  his  old  school-fellows  and 
they  regarded  him  with  almost  respectful  admiration.  He 
talked  away  very  wittily  for  half  an  hour ;  he  had  been  set 
upon  a  pedestal,  and  wished  to  justify  the  opinion  of  his  fellow- 
townsmen  ;  so  he  stood  with  his  hands  thrust  into  his  pockets, 
and  held  forth  from  the  height  to  which  he  had  been  raised. 
He  was  modest  and  good-natured,  as  befitted  genius  in  dress- 
ing-gown and  slippers;  he  was  the  athlete,  wearied  by  a 
wrestling  bout  with  Paris,  and  disenchanted  above  all  things; 
he  congratulated  the  comrades  who  had  never  left  the  dear 
old  province,  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth.  They  were  delighted 
with  him.  He  took  Petit-Claud  aside,  and  asked  him  for  the 
real  truth  about  David's  affairs,  reproached  him  for  allowing 
his  brother-in-law  to  go  into  hiding,  and  tried  to  match  his 
wits  against  the  little  lawyer.  Petit-Claud  made  an  effort 
over  himself,  and  gave  his  acquaintance  to  understand  that  he 
(Petit-Claud)  was  only  an  insignificant  little  country  attorney, 
with  no  sort  of  craft  nor  subtlety;  absolutely  guileless  and 
sublimely  innocent. 

The  whole  machinery  of  modern  society  is  so  infinitely 
more  complex  than  in  ancient  times  that  the  subdivision  of 
human  faculty  is  the  result.  The  great  men  of  the  days  of 
old  were  perforce  universal  geniuses,  appearing  at  rare  inter- 
vals like  lighted  torches  in  an  antique  world.  In  the  course 
of  ages  the  intellect  began  to  work  on  special  lines,  but  the 
great  man  still  could  "  take  all  knowledge  for  his  province." 
A  man  "  full  cautelous  "  (cunning),  as  was  said  of  Louis  XI., 
for  instance,  could  apply  that  special  faculty  in  every  direc- 
tion, but  to-day  the  single  quality  is  subdivided,  and  every 
profession  has  its  special  craft.  A  peasant  or  a  pettifogging 
solicitor  might  very  easily  overreach  an  astute  diplomatist 
over  a  bargain  in  some  remote  country  village ;  and  the 
wiliest  journalist  may  prove  the  veriest  simpleton  in  a  piece 


292  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

of  business.  Lucien  could  but  be  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of 
Petit-Claud. 

That  guileful  practitioner,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
had  written  the  article  himself;  Angouleme  and  L'Houmeau, 
thus  put  on  their  mettle,  thought  it  incumbent  upon  them  to 
pay  honor  to  Lucien.  His  fellow-citizens,  assembled  in  the 
Place  du  Murier,  were  Cointets'  workpeople  from  the  paper- 
mills  and  printing-house,  with  a  sprinkling  of  Lucien's  old 
school-fellows  and  the  clerks  in  the  employ  of  Messieurs  Petit- 
Claud  and  Cachan.  As  for  the  attorney  himself,  he  was  once 
more  Lucien's  chum  of  old  days ;  and  he  thought,  not  with- 
out reason,  that  before  very  long  he  should  learn  David's 
whereabouts  in  some  unguarded  moment.  And  if  David 
came  to  grief  through  Lucien's  fault,  the  poet  would  find 
Angoul&me  too  hot  to  hold  him.  Petit-Claud  meant  to  secure 
his  hold ;  he  posed,  therefore,  as  Lucien's  inferior. 

"What  better  could  I  have  done?  "  he  said  accordingly. 
"  My  old  chum's  sister  was  involved,  it  is  true,  but  there  are 
some  positions  that  simply  cannot  be  maintained  in  a  court 
of  law.  David  asked  me  on  the  first  of  June  to  insure  him  a 
quiet  life  for  three  months  ;  he  had  a  quiet  life  until  Septem- 
ber, and  even  so  I  have  kept  his  property  out  of  his  creditors' 
power,  for  I  shall  gain  my  case  in  the  Court-Royal ;  I  con- 
tend that  the  wife  is  a  privileged  creditor,  and  her  claim  is 
absolute,  unless  there  is  evidence  of  intent  to  defraud.  As  for 
you,  you,  you  have  come  back  in  misfortune,  but  you  are  a 
genius."  (Lucien  turned  about  as  if  the  incense  were  burned 
too  close  to  his  face.)  "  Yes,  my  dear  fellow,  a  genius.  I 
have  read  your  '  Archer  of  Charles  IX.; '  it  is  more  than  a  ro- 
mance, it  is  literature.  Only  two  living  men  could  have  writ- 
ten the  preface — Chateaubriand  and  Lucien."  Lucien  accepted 
the  eulogium,  and  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  mention  that 
d'Arthez  had  written  the  preface.  Ninety-nine  writers  out 
of  a  hundred  would  have  done  the  same. 

"  Well,  nobody  here  seemed  to  have  heard  of  you  !  "  Petit- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  293 

Claud  continued,  with  apparent  indignation.  "  When  I  saw 
the  general  indifference,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  change  all 
that.  I  wrote  that  article  in  the  paper " 

"  What?     Did  you  write  it?"  exclaimed  Lucien. 

"I  myself.  Angoul&me  and  L'Houmeau  were  stirred  to 
rivalry ;  I  arranged  for  a  meeting  of  your  old  school-fellows, 
and  got  up  yesterday's  serenade  ;  and  when  once  the  enthu- 
siasm began  to  grow,  we  started  a  committee  for  the  dinner. 
'If  David  is  in  hiding,'  said  I  to  myself,  'Lucien  shall  be 
crowned  at  any  rate.'  And  I  have  done  even  better  than 
that,"  continued  Petit-Claud  ;  "  I  have  seen  the  Comtesse  du 
Chatelet  and  made  her  understand  that  she  owes  it  to  herself 
to  extricate  David  from  his  position  ;  she  can  do  it,  and  she 
ought  to  do  it.  If  David  has  really  discovered  the  secret  of 
which  he  spoke  to  me,  the  government  ought  to  lend  him  a 
hand,  it  would  not  ruin  the  government ;  and  think  what  a 
fine  thing  for  a  prefect  to  have  half  the  credit  of  the  great 
invention  for  the  well-timed  help.  It  would  set  people  talking 
about  him  as  an  enlightened  administrator.  Your  sister  has 
taken  fright  at  our  musketry  practice ;  she  was  scared  of  the 
smoke.  A  battle  in  the  law  courts  costs  quite  as  much  as  a 
battle  on  the  field  ;  but  David  has  held  his  ground,  he  has  his 
secret.  They  cannot  stop  him,  and  they  will  not  pull  him 
up  now." 

"  Thanks,  my  dear  fellow ;  I  see  that  I  can  take  you 
into  my  confidence;  you  shall  help  me  to  carry  out  my 
plan." 

Petit-Claud  looked  at  Lucien,  and  his  gimlet  face  was  a 
point  of  interrogation. 

"  I  intend  to  rescue  Sechard,"  Lucien  said,  with  a  certain 
importance.  "I  brought  his  misfortunes  upon  him;  I  mean 

to  make  full  reparation I  have  more  influence  over 

Louise " 

"Who  is  Louise?" 

"  The  Comtesse  du  Chatelet !  " 


294  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Petit-Claud  started. 

"  I  have  more  influence  over  her  than  she  herself  suspects," 
said  Lucien ;  "  only,  my  dear  fellow,  if  I  can  do  something 
with  your  authorities  here,  I  have  no  decent  clothes."  Petit- 
Claud  made  as  though  he  would  offer  his  purse. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Lucien,  grasping  Petit-Claud's  hand. 
"  In  ten-days'  time  I  will  pay  a  visit  to  the  Countess  and 
return  your  call." 

They  shook  hands  like  old  comrades  and  separated. 

"  He  ought  to  be  a  poet,"  said  Petit-Claud  to  himself;  "he 
is  quite  mad." 

"  There  are  no  friends  like  one's  school  friends  ;  it  is  a  true 
saying,"  Lucien  thought  as  he  went  to  find  his  sister. 

"  What  can  Petit-Claud  have  promised  to  do  that  you 
should  be  so  friendly  with  him,  my  Lucien?"  asked  Eve. 
"  Be  on  your  guard  with  him." 

"With  him?"  cried  Lucien.  "Listen,  Eve,"  he  con- 
tinued, seeming  to  bethink  himself,  "  you  have  no  faith  in  me 
now,  you  do  not  trust  me,  so  it  is  not  likely  you  will  trust 
Petit-Claud  ;  but  in  ten  or  twelve  days  you  will  change  your 
mind,"  he  added,  with  a  touch  of  fatuity.  And  he  went  up 
to  his  room,  and  indited  the  following  epistle  to  Lousteau : 

Lucien  to  Lousteau. 

"My  FRIEND  : — Of  the  pair  of  us,  I  alone  can  remember 
that  bill  for  a  thousand  francs  that  I  once  lent  you ;  and  I 
know  how  things  will  be  with  you  when  you  open  this  letter 
too  well,  alas !  not  to  add  immediately  that  I  do  not  expect 
to  be  repaid  in  current  coin  of  the  realm  ;  no,  I  will  take  it 
in  credit  from  you,  just  as  one  would  ask  Florine  for  pleasure. 
We  have  the  same  tailor ;  therefore,  you  can  order  a  complete 
outfit  for  me  on  the  shortest  possible  notice.  I  am  not  pre- 
cisely wearing  Adam's  costume,  but  I  cannot  show  myself 
here.  To  my  astonishment,  the  honors  paid  by  the  depart- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  295 

ments  to  a  Parisian  celebrity  awaited  me.  I  am  the  hero  of  a 
banquet,  for  all  the  world  as  if  I  were  a  Deputy  of  the  Left. 
Now,  after  that,  do  you  understand  that  I  must  have  a  black 
coat  ?  Promise  to  pay ;  have  it  put  down  to  your  account, 
try  the  advertisement  dodge,  rehearse  an  unpublished  scene 
between  Don  Juan  and  M.  Dimanche,  for  I  must  have  a  gala 
suit  at  all  costs.  I  have  nothing,  nothing  but  rags  :  start  with 
that ;  it  is  August,  the  weather  is  magnificent,  ergo,  see  that  I 
receive  by  the  end  of  the  week  a  charming  morning  suit, 
dark  bronze-green  jacket,  and  three  waistcoats,  one  a  brim- 
stone yellow,  one  a  plaid,  and  the  third  must  be  white ;  fur- 
thermore, let  there  be  three  pairs  of  trousers  of  the  most 
fetching  kind — one  pair  of  white  English  stuff,  one  pair  of 
nankeen,  and  a  third  of  thin,  black  kerseymere ;  lastly,  send  a 
black  dress-coat  and  a  black  satin  waistcoat.  If  you  have 
picked  up  another  Florine  somewhere,  I  beg  her  good  offices 
for  two  cravats.  So  far  this  is  nothing  •  I  count  upon  you 
and  your  skill  in  these  matters ;  I  am  not  much  afraid  of  the 
tailor.  But  the  ingenuity  of  poverty,  assuredly  the  most 
active  of  all  poisons  at  work  in  the  system  of  man  (id  est,  the 
Parisian),  an  ingenuity  that  would  catch  Satan  himself  nap- 
ping, has  failed  so  far  to  discover  a  way  to  obtain  a  hat  on 
credit  !  How  many  a  time,  my  dear  friend,  have  we  deplored 
this !  When  one  of  us  shall  bring  a  hat  that  costs  a  thousand 
francs  into  fashion,  then,  and  not  till  then,  can  we  afford  to 
wear  them;  until  that  day  comes  we  are  bound  to  have  cash 
enough  in  our  pockets  to  pay  for  a  hat !  Ah !  what  an  ill 
turn  the  Comedie-Frangaise  did  us  with,  *  Lafleur,  you  will 
put  gold  in  my  pockets  ! ' 

"I  write  with  a  profound  sense  of  all  the  difficulties  in- 
volved by  the  demand.  Enclose  with  the  above  a  pair  of 
boots,  a  pair  of  pumps,  a  hat,  half  a  dozen  pairs  of  gloves. 
'Tis  asking  the  impossible ;  I  know  it.  But  what  is  a  literary 
life  but  a  periodical  recurrence  of  the  impossible?  Work  the 
miracle,  write  a  long  article,  or  play  some  small  scurvy  trick, 


296  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

and  I  will  hold  your  debt  as  fully  discharged — this  is  all  I  say 
to  you.  It  is  a  debt  of  honor,  after  all,  my  dear  fellow,  and 
due  these  twelve  months ;  you  ought  to  blush  for  yourself  if 
you  had  any  blushes  left. 

"  Joking  apart,  my  dear  Lousteau,  I  am  in  serious  difficul- 
ties, as  you  may  judge  for  yourself  when  I  tell  you  that  Mme. 
de  Bargeton  has  married  Ch&telet,  and  Chatelet  is  prefect  of 
AngoulSme.  The  precious  pair  can  do  a  good  deal  for  my 
brother-in-law ;  he  is  in  hiding  at  this  moment  on  account  of 
that  letter  of  exchange,  and  the  horrid  business  is  all  my  doing. 
So  it  is  a  question  of  appearing  before  Mme.  la  Prefete  and 
regaining  my  influence  at  all  costs.  It  is  shocking,  is  it  not, 
that  David  Sechard's  fate  should  hang  upon  a  neat  pair  of 
shoes,  a  pair  of  open-worked  gray  silk  stockings  (mind  you, 
remember  them),  and  a  new  hat  ?  I  shall  give  out  that  I  am 
sick  and  ill,  and  take  to  my  bed,  like  Duvicquet,  to  save  the 
trouble  of  replying  to  the  pressing  invitations  of  my  fellow- 
townsmen.  My  fellow-townsmen,  dear  boy,  have  treated  me 
to  a  fine  serenade.  My  fellow-townsmen,  forsooth;  I  begin 
to  wonder  how  many  fools  go  to  make  up  that  word,  since 
I  learned  that  two  or  three  of  my  old  school-fellows  worked 
up  the  capital  of  the  Angoumois  to  this  pitch  of  enthusiasm. 

"  If  you  could  contrive  to  slip  a  few  lines  as  to  my  reception 
in  among  the  news  items,  I  should  be  several  inches  the  taller 
for  it  here  ;  and,  beside,  I  should  make  Mme.  la  Prefete  feel 
that,  if  I  have  not  friends,  I  have  some  credit,  at  any  rate, 
with  the  Parisian  press.  I  give  up  none  of  my  hopes,  and  I 
will  return  the  compliment.  If  you  want  a  good,  solid,  sub- 
stantial article  for  some  magazine  or  other,  I  have  time  enough 
now  to  think  something  out.  I  only  say  the  word,  my  dear 
friend  ;  I  count  upon  you  as  you  may  count  upon  me,  and  I 
am  yours  sincerely, 

"  LUCIEN  DE  R. 

"/*•  S. — Send  the  things  to  the  coach  office  to  wait  until 
called  for." 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  297 

Lucien  held  up  his  head  again.  In  this  mood  he  wrote  the 
letter,  and  as  he  wrote  his  thoughts  went  back  to  Paris.  He 
had  spent  six  days  in  the  provinces,  and  the  uneventful  quiet- 
ness of  provincial  life  had  already  entered  into  his  soul ;  his 
mind  returned  to  those  dear  old  miserable  days  with  a  vague 
sense  of  regret.  The  Comtesse  du  Chatelet  filled  his  thoughts 
for  a  whole  week  ;  and  at  last  he  came  to  attach  so  much 
importance  to  his  reappearance  that  he  hurried  down  to  the 
coach  office  in  L'Houmeau  after  nightfall  in  a  perfect  agony 
of  suspense,  like  a  woman  who  has  set  her  last  hopes  upon  a 
new  dress  and  waits  in  despair  until  it  arrives. 

"Ah!  Lousteau,  all  your  treasons  are  forgiven,"  he  said 
to  himself,  as  he  eyed  the  packages,  and  knew  from  the  shape 
of  them  that  everything  had  been  sent.  Inside  the  hat-box 
he  found  a  note  from  Lousteau  : 

"  FLORINE'S  DRAWING-ROOM. 

"  MY  DEAR  BOY  : — The  tailor  behaved  very  well ;  but  as 
thy  profound  retrospective  glance  led  thee  to  forebode,  the 
cravats,  the  hat,  and  the  silk  hosen  perplexed  our  souls,  for 
there  was  nothing  in  our  purse  to  be  perplexed  thereby.  As 
said  Blondet,  so  say  we ;  there  is  a  fortune  awaiting  the  estab- 
lishment which  will  supply  young  men  with  inexpensive  arti- 
cles on  credit ;  for  when  we  do  not  pay  in  the  beginning,  we 
pay  dear  in  the  end.  And,  by-the-by,  did  not  the  great  Na- 
poleon, who  missed  a  voyage  to  the  Indies  for  want  of  boots, 
say  that,  '  If  a  thing  is  easy,  it  is  never  done  ? '  So  every- 
thing went  well — except  the  boots.  I  beheld  a  vision  of  thee, 
fully  dressed,  but  without  a  hat !  appareled  in  vests,  yet  shoe- 
less !  and  bethought  me  of  sending  a  pair  of  moccasins  given 
to  Florine  as  a  curiosity  by  an  American.  Florine  offered  the 
huge  sum  of  forty  francs  that  we  might  try  our  luck  at  play 
for  you.  Nathan,  Blondet,  and  I  had  such  luck  (as  we  were 
not  playing  for  ourselves)  that  we  were  rich  enough  to  ask 
La  Torpille,  des  Lupeaulx's  sometime  '  rat,'  to  supper.  Fras- 


298  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

cati  certainly  owed  us  that  much.  Florine  undertook  the 
shopping,  and  added  three  fine  shirts  to  the  purchases.  Nathan 
sends  you  a  cane.  Blondet,  who  won  three  hundred  francs, 
is  sending  you  a  gold  chain  ;  and  the  gold  watch,  the  size  of 
a  forty-franc  piece,  is  from  La  Torpille  ;  some  idiot  gave  the 
thing  to  her,  and  it  will  not  go.  '  Trumpery  rubbish,'  she 
says,  '  like  the  man  that  owned  it.'  Bixiou,  who  came  to 
find  us  up  at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale,  wished  to  enclose  a 
bottle  of  Portugal  water  in  the  package.  Said  our  first  comic 
man,  '  If  this  can  make  him  happy,  let  him  have  it !  ' 
growling  it  out  in  a  deep  bass  voice  with  the  bourgeois  pom- 
posity that  he  can  act  to  the  life.  Which  things,  my  dear 
boy,  ought  to  prove  to  you  how  much  we  care  for  our  friends 
in  adversity.  Florine,  whofn  I  have  had  the  weakness  to  for- 
give, begs  you  to  send  us  an  article  on  Nathan's  last.  Fare 
thee  well,  my  son.  I  can  only  commiserate  you  on  finding 
yourself  back  in  the  same  box  from  which  you  emerged  when 
you  discovered  your  old  comrade. 

"ETIENNE  L." 

"Poor  fellows!  They  have  been  gambling  forme,"  said 
Lucien  ;  he  was  quite  touched  by  the  letter.  A  waft  of  the 
breeze  from  an  unhealthy  country,  from  the  land  where  one 
has  suffered  most,  may  seem  to  bring  the  odors  of  Paradise  ; 
and  in  a  dull  life  there  is  an  indefinable  sweetness  in  memories 
of  past  pain. 

Eve  was  struck  dumb  with  amazement  when  her  brother 
came  down  in  his  new  clothes.  She  did  not  recognize  him. 

"  Now  I  can  walk  out  in  Beaulieu,"  he  cried  ;  "  they  shall 
not  say  it  ofc  me  that  I  came  back  in  rags.  Look,  here  is  a 
watch  which  I  shall  return  to  you,  for  it  is  mine ;  and,  like 
its  owner,  it  is  erratic  in  its  ways." 

"  What  a  child  he  is  !  "  exclaimed  Eve.  "It  is  imposible 
to  bear  you  any  grudge." 

"  Then  do  you  imagine,  my  dear  girl,  that  I  sent  for  all 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  299 

this  with  the  silly  idea  of  shining  in  Angouleme?  I  don't 
care  that  for  AngoulSme  "  (twirling  his  cane  with  the  engraved 
gold  knob).  "I  intend  to  repair  the  wrong  I  have  done,  and 
this  is  my  battle-array." 

Lucien's  success  in  this  kind  was  his  one  real  triumph  ;  but 
the  triumph,  be  it  said,  was  immense.  If  admiration  freezes 
some  people's  tongues,  envy  loosens  at  least  as  many  more, 
and  if  women  lost  their  heads  over  Lucien,  men  slandered 
him.  He  might  have  cried  in  the  words  of  the  song-writer, 
"  I  thank  thee,  my  coat !  "  He  left  two  cards  at  the  prefec- 
ture and  another  upon  Petit-Claud.  The  next  day,  the  day 
of  the  banquet,  the  following  paragraph  appeared  under  the 
heading  "Angouleme"  in  the  Paris  newspapers: 

"  ANGOUL£ME. 

"  The  return  of  the  author  of  '  The  Archer  of  Charles  IX.' 
has  been  the  signal  for  an  ovation  which  does  equal  honor 
to  the  town  and  to  M.  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  the  young 
poet  who  has  made  so  brilliant  a  beginning;  the  writer  of  the 
one  French  historical  novel  not  written  in  the  style  of  Scott, 
and  of  a  preface  which  may  be  called  a  literary  event.  The 
town  hastened  to  offer  him  a  patriotic  banquet  on  his  return. 
The  name  of  the  recently  appointed  prefect  is  associated  with 
the  public  demonstration  in  honor  of  the  author  of  the 
'  Marguerites,'  whose  talent  received  such  warm  encourage- 
ment from  Mme.  du  Chatelet  at  the  outset  of  his  career." 

In  France,  when  once  the  impulse  is  given,  nobody  can  stop. 
The  colonel  of  the  regiment  offered  to  put  his  band  at  the 
disposal  of  the  committee.  The  landlord  of  the  Bell  (re- 
nowned for  truffled  turkeys,  dispatched  in  the  most  wonderful 
porcelain  jars  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth),  the  famous 
inn-keeper  of  L'Houmeau,  would  supply  the  repast.  At  five 
o'clock  some  forty  persons,  all  in  state  and  festal  array,  were 
assembled  in  his  largest  hall,  decorated  with  hangings,  crowns 


300  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

of  laurel,  and  bouquets.  The  effect  was  superb.*  A  crowd 
of  on-lookers,  some  hundred  persons,  attracted  for  the  most 
part  by  the  military  band  in  the  yard,  represented  the  citizens 
of  Angouleme. 

Petit-Claud  went  to  the  window.  "  All  AngouleTne  is 
here,"  he  said,  looking  out. 

"I  can  make  nothing  of  this,"  remarked  little  Postel  to 
his  wife  (they  hai'  come  out  to  hear  the  band  play).  "  Why, 
the  prefect  and  the  receiver-general,  and  the  colonel  and  the 
superintendent  of  the  powder  factory,  and  our  mayor  and 
deputy,  and  the  headmaster  of  the  school,  and  the  manager 
of  the  foundry  at  Ruelle,  and  the  public  prosecutor,  M. 
Milaud,  and  all  the  authorities  have  just  gone  in  !  " 

The  band  struck  up  as  they  sat  down  to  table  with  varia- 
tions on  the  air  Vive  le  rot,  vive  la  France  (Long  live  the 
King,  long  live  France),  a  melody  which  has  never  found 
popular  favor.  It  was  then  five  o'clock  in  the  evening ;  it 
was  eight  o'clock  before  dessert  was  served.  Conspicuous 
among  the  sixty-five  dishes  appeared  an  Olympus  in  confec- 
tionery, surmounted  by  a  figure  of  France  mounted  in  choco- 
late, to  give  the  signal  for  toasts  and  speeches. 

"Gentlemen,"  called  the  prefect,  rising  to  his  feet,  "the 
King  !  the  rightful  ruler  of  France  !  To  what  do  we  owe  the 
generation  of  poets  and  thinkers  who  maintain  the  sceptre  of 
letters  in  the  hands  of  France,  if  not  to  the  peace  which  the 
Bourbons  have  restored " 

"  Long  live  the  King  !  "  cried  the  assembled  guests  (minis- 
terialists predominated). 

The  venerable  headmaster  rose. 

"  To  the  hero  of  the  day,"  he  said  ;  "to  the  young  poet 
who  combines  the  gift  of  the  prosateur  (prose  writer)  with  the 
charm  and  poetic  faculty  of  Petrarch  in  that  sonnet-form 
which  Boileau  declares  to  be  so  difficult." 

Cheers. 

The  colonel  rose  next.     "Gentlemen,  to  the  Royalist !  for 


LCST  ILLUSIONS.  301 

the  hero  of  this  evening  had  the  courage  to  fight  for  sound 
principles  !  " 

"  Bravo  !  "  cried  the  prefect,  leading  the  applause. 

Then  Petit-Claud  called  upon  all  Lucien's  school-fellows 
there  present.  "  To  the  pride  of  the  high-school  of  Angou- 
iSme  !  to  the  venerable  headmaster  dear  to  us  all,  to  whom  the 
acknowledgment  for  some  part  of  our  triumph  is  due  !  " 

The  old  headmaster  dried  his  eyes ;  he  had  not  expected 
this  toast.  Lucien  rose  to  his  feet,  the  whole  room  was  sud- 
denly silent,  and  the  poet's  face  grew  white.  In  that  pause 
the  old  headmaster  who  sat  on  his  left  crowned  him  with  a 
laurel  wreath.  A  round  of  applause  followed,  and  when  Lu- 
cien  spoke  it  was  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  a  sob  in  his  throat. 

"  He  is  drunk,"  remarked  the  attorney-general-designate  to 
his  neighbor,  Petit-Claud. 

"  It  is  not  the  wine,"  returned  Petit-Claud. 

"My  dear  fellow-countrymen,  my  dear  comrades,"  Lucien 
said 'at  last,  "  I  could  wish  that  all  France  might  witness  this 
scene ;  for  thus  men  rise  to  their  full  stature,  and  in  such  ways 
as  these  our  land  demands  great  deeds  and  noble  work  of  us. 
And  when  I  think  of  the  little  that  I  have  done,  and  of  this 
great  honor  shown  to  me  to-day,  I  can  only  feel  confused  and 
impose  upon  the  future  the  task  of  justifying  your  reception 
of  me.  The  recollection  of  this  moment  will  give  me  re- 
newed strength  for  efforts  to  come.  Permit  me  to  indicate 
for  your  homage  my  earliest  muse  and  protectress,  and  to  asso- 
ciate her  name  with  that  of  my  birthplace  ;  so — to  the  Com- 
tesse  du  Chatelet  and  the  noble  town  of  Angouleme !  " 

"  He  came  out  of  that  pretty  well  !  "  said  the  public  prose- 
cutor, nodding  approval;  "our  speeches  were  all  prepared, 
and  his  was  improvised." 

At  ten  o'clock  the  party  began  to  break  up,  and  little  knots 
of  guests  went  home  together.  David  Sechard  heard  the  un- 
wonted music. 

"  What  is  going  on  in  L'Houmeau  ?  "  he  asked  of  Basine. 


302  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"  They  are  giving  a  dinner  to  your  brother-in-law,  Lu- 
cien " 

"I  know  that  he  would  feel  sorry  to  miss  me  there,"  he 
said. 

At  midnight  Petit-Claud  walked  home  with  Lucien.  As 
they  reached  the  Place  du  Murier,  Lucien  said,  "Come  life, 
come  death,  we  are  friends,  my  dear  fellow." 

"My  marriage-contract,"  said  the  lawyer,  "with  Made- 
moiselle Fransoise  de  la  Haye  will  be  signed  to-morrow  at 
Madame  de  Senonches'  house ;  do  me  the  pleasure  of  coming. 
Madame  de  Senonches  implored  me  to  bring  you,  and  you 
will  meet  Madame  du  Chatelet ;  they  are  sure  to  tell  her  of 
your  speech,  and  she  will  feel  flattered  by  it." 

"I  knew  what  I  was  about,"  said  Lucien. 

"  Oh  !  you  will  save  David." 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall,"  the  poet  replied. 

Just  at  that  moment  David  appeared  as  if  by  magic  in  the 
Place  du  Murier.  This  was  how  it  had  come  about.  He  felt 
that  he  was  in  a  rather  difficult  position  ;  his  wife  insisted  that 
Lucien  must  neither  go  to  David  nor  know  of  his  hiding- 
place  ;  and  Lucien  all  the  while  was  writing  the  most  affec- 
tionate letters,  saying  that  in  a  few  days'  time  all  should  be 
set  right ;  and,  even  as  Basine  Clerget  explained  the  reason  why 
the  band  played,  she  put  two  letters  into  his  hands.  The  first 
was  from  Eve: 

"DEAREST,"  she  wrote,  "do  as  if  Lucien  were  not  here; 
do  not  trouble  yourself  in  the  least ;  our  whole  security  de- 
pends upon  the  fact  that  your  enemies  cannot  find  you  ;  get 
that  idea  firmly  into  your  dear  head.  I  have  more  confidence 
in  Kolb  and  Marion  and  Basine  than  in  my  own  brother ; 
such  is  my  misfortune.  Alas  !  poor  Lucien  is  not  the  ingen- 
uous and  tender-hearted  poet  whom  we  used  to  know  ;  and  it 
is  simply  because  he  is  trying  to  interfere  on  your  behalf,  and 
because  he  imagines  that  he  can  discharge  our  debts  (and  this 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  303 

from  pride,  my  David),  that  I  am  afraid  of  him.  Some  fine 
clothes  have  been  sent  from  Paris  for  him,  and  five  gold-pieces 
in  a  pretty  purse.  He  gave  the  money  to  me,  and  we  are 
living  on  it. 

"  We  have  one  enemy  the  less.  Your  father  has  gone, 
thanks  to  Petit-Claud.  Petit-Claud  unraveled  his  designs,  and 
put  an  end  to  them  at  once  by  telling  him  that  you  would  do 
nothing  without  consulting  him,  and  that  he  (Petit-Claud) 
would  not  allow  you  to  concede  a  single  point  in  the  matter 
of  the  invention  until  you  had  been  promised  an  indemnity  of 
thirty  thousand  francs ;  fifteen  thousand  to  free  you  from  em- 
barrassment, and  fifteen  thousand  more  to  be  yours  in  any 
case,  whether  your  invention  succeeds  or  not.  I  cannot  under- 
stand Petit-Claud.  I  embrace  you,  dear,  a  wife's  kiss  for  her 
husband  in  trouble.  Our  little  Lucien  is  well.  How  strange 
it  is  to  watch  him  grow  rosy  and  strong,  like  a  flower,  in  these 
stormy  days  !  Mother  prays  God  for  you  now,  as  always,  and 
sends  love  only  less  tender  than  mine.  Your  EVE." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Petit-Claud  and  the  Cointets  had  taken 
fright  at  old  Sechard's  peasant's  shrewdness,  and  got  rid  of 
him  so  much  the  more  easily  because  it  was  now  vintage-time 
at  Marsac.  Eve's  letter  enclosed  another  from  Lucien  : 

"  MY  DEAR  DAVID  : — Everything  is  going  well.  I  am 
armed  cap-a-pie ;  to-day  I  open  the  campaign,  and  in  forty- 
eight  hours  I  shall  have  made  great  progress.  How  glad  I 
shall  be  to  embrace  you  when  you  are  free  again  and  my 
debts  are  all  paid  !  My  mother  and  sister  persist  in  mistrust- 
ing me ;  their  suspicion  wounds  me  to  the  quick.  As  if  I  did 
not  know  already  that  you  are  hiding  with  Basine,  for  every 
time  that  Basine  comes  to  the  house  I  hear  news  of  you  and 
receive  answers  to  my  letters ;  and,  beside,  it  is  plain  that  my 
sister  could  not  find  any  one  else  to  trust.  It  hurts  me  cruelly 
to  think  that  I  shall  be  so  near  you  to-day,  and  yet  that  you 


304  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

will  not  be  present  at  this  banquet  in  my  honor.  I  owe  my 
little  triumph  to  the  vainglory  of  Angouleme  ;  in  a  few  days 
it  will  be  quite  forgotten,  and  you  alone  would  have  taken  a 
real  pleasure  in  it.  But,  after  all,  in  a  little  while  you  will 
pardon  everything  to  one  who  counts  it  more  than  all  the 
triumphs  in  the  world  to  be  your  brother,  LUCIEN." 

Two  forces  tugged  sharply  at  David's  heart ;  he  adored  his 
wife;  and  if  he  held  Lucien  in  somewhat  less  esteem,  his 
friendship  was  scarcely  diminished.  In  solitude  our  feelings 
have  unrestricted  play;  and  a  man  preoccupied  like  David, 
with  all-absorbing  thoughts,  will  give  way  to  impulses  for 
which  ordinary  life  would  have  provided  a  sufficient  counter- 
poise. '  As  he  read  Lucien'^  letter  to  the  sound  of  military 
music,  and  heard  of  this  unlooked-for  recognition,  he  was 
deeply  touched  by  that  expression  of  regret.  He  had  known 
how  it  would  be.  A  very  slight  expression  of  feeling  appeals 
irresistibly  to  a  sensitive  soul,  for  they  are  apt  to  credit  others 
with  like  depths.  How  should  the  drop  fall  unless  the  cup 
were  full  to  the  brim  ? 

So  at  midnight,  in  spite  of  all  Basine's  entreaties,  David 
must  go  to  see  Lucien. 

"Nobody  will  be  out  in  the  streets  at  this  time  of  night," 
he  said;  "I  shall  not  be  seen,  and  they  cannot  arrest  me. 
Even  if  I  should  meet  people,  I  can  make  use  of  Kolb's  way 
of  going  into  hiding.  And,  beside,  it  is  so  intolerably  long 
since  I  saw  my  wife  and  child." 

The  reasoning  was  plausible  enough  ;  Basine  gave  way,  and 
David  went.  Petit- Claud  was  just  taking  leave  as  he  came 
up,  and  at  his  cry  of  "Lucicn!"  the  two  brothers  flung  their 
arms  about  each  other  with  tears  in  their  eyes. 

Life  holds  not  many  moments  such  as  these.  Lucien's 
heart  went  out  in  response  to  this  friendship  for  its  own  sake. 
There  was  never  question  of  debtor  and  creditor  between 
them,  and  the  offender  met  with  no  reproaches  save  his  own. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  305 

David,  generous  and  noble  that  he  was,  he  was  longing  to 
bestow  pardon ;  he  meant  first  of  all  to  read  Lucien  a  lecture, 
and  scatter  the  clouds  that  overspread  the  love  of  the  brother 
and  sister ;  and  with  these  ends  in  view,  the  lack  of  money 
and  its  consequent  dangers  disappeared  entirely  from  his  mind. 

"  Go  home,"  said  Petit-Claud,  addressing  his  client ;  "  take 
advantage  of  your  imprudence  to  see  your  wife  and  child 
again,  at  any  rate ;  and  you  must  not  be  seen,  mind  you ! 
How  unlucky  !  "  he  added,  when  he  was  alone  in  the  Place 
du  Murier..  "  If  only  Cerizet  were  here " 

The  buildings  magniloquently  styled  the  Angouleme  Law 
Courts  were  then  in  process  of  construction.  Petit-Claud 
muttered  these  words  to  himself  as  he  passed  by  the  hoardings, 
and  heard  a  tap  upon  the  boards,  and  a  voice  issuing  from  a 
crack  between  two  planks — 

"  Here  I  am,"  said  Cerizet ;  "I  saw  David  coming  out  of 
L'Houmeau.  I  was  beginning  to  have  my  suspicions  about 
his  retreat,  and  now  I  am  sure ;  and  I  know  where  to  have 
him.  But  I  want  to  know  something  of  Lucien's  plans  before 
I  set  the  snare  for  David  ;  and  here  are  you  sending  him  into 
the  house  !  Find  some  excuse  for  stopping  here,  at  least,  and 
when  David  and  Lucien  come  out,  send  them  around  this 
way ;  they  will  think  they  are  quite  alone,  and  I  shall  over- 
hear their  good-by." 

"You  are  a  very  devil,"  muttered  Petit-Claud. 

"  Well,  I'm  blessed  if  a  man  wouldn't  do  anything  for  the 
thing  you  promised  me." 

Petit-Claud  walked  away  from  the  hoarding,  and  paced  up 
and  down  in  the  Place  du  Murier ;  he  watched  the  windows 
of  the  room  where  the  family  sat  together,  and  thought  of  his 
own  prospects  to  keep  up  his  courage.  Cerizet's  cleverness 
had  given  him  the  chance  of  striking  the  final  blow.  Petit- 
Claud  was  a  double-dealer  of  the  profoundly  cautious  stamp 
that  is  never  caught  by  the  bait  of  a  present  satisfaction-,  nor 
entangled  by  a  personal  attachment,  after  his  first  initiation 
20 


806  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

into  the  strategy  of  self-seeking  and  the  instability  of  the  hu- 
man heart.  So,  from  the  very  first  he  had  put  little  trust  in 
Cointet.  He  foresaw  that  his  marriage  negotiations  might 
very  easily  be  broken  off,  saw  also  that  in  that  case  he  could 
not  accuse  Cointet  of  bad  faith,  and  he  had  taken  his  measures 
accordingly.  But  since  his  success  at  the  Hotel  de  Bargeton, 
Petit-Claud's  game  was  above-board.  A  certain  under-plot  of 
his  was  useless  now,  and  even  dangerous  to  a  man  with  his 
political  ambitions.  He  had  laid  the  foundations  of  his  future 
importance  in  the  following  manner : 

Gannerac  and  a  few  of  the  wealthy  men  of  business  in 
L'Houmeau  formed  a  sort  of  Liberal  clique  in  constant  com- 
munication (through  commercial  channels)  with  the  leaders 
of  the  Opposition.  The  Villele  ministry,  accepted  by  the 
dying  Louis  XVIII.,  gave  the  signal  for  a  change  of  tactics  in 
the  Opposition  camp ;  for  since  the  death  of  Napoleon  the 
Liberals  had  ceased  to  resort  to  the  dangerous  expedient  of 
conspiracy.  They  were  busy  organizing  resistance  by  lawful 
means  throughout  the  provinces,  and  aiming  at  securing  con- 
trol of  the  great  bulk  of  electors  by  convincing  the  masses. 
Petit-Claud,  a  rabid  Liberal,  and  a  man  of  L'Houmeau,  was 
the  instigator,  the  secret  counselor,  and  the  very  life  of  this 
movement  in  the  lower  town,  which  groaned  under  the 
tyranny  of  the  aristocrats  at  the  upper  end.  He  was  the  first 
to  see  the  danger  of  leaving  the  whole  press  of  the  department 
in  the  control  of  the  Cointets  ;  the  Opposition  must  have  its 
organ  ;  it  would  not  do  to  be  behind  other  cities. 

"  If  each  one  of  us  gives  Gannerac  a  bill  for  five  hundred 
francs  he  would  have  some  twenty  thousand  francs  and  more; 
we  might  buy  up  S6chard's  printing-office,  and  we  could  do 
as  we  liked  with  the  master  printer  if  we  lent  him  the  capital," 
Petit-Claud  had  said. 

Others  had  taken  up  the  idea,  and  in  this  way  Petit-Claud 
strengthened  his  position  with  regard  to  David  on  the  one 
side  and  the  Cointets  on  the  other.  Casting  about  him  for  a 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  307 

tool  for  his  party,  he  naturally  thought  that  a  rogue  of  Cerizet's 
calibre  was  the  very  man  for  the  purpose. 

"  If  you  can  find  Sechard's  hiding-place  and  put  him  in  our 
hands,  somebody  will  lend  you  twenty  thousand  francs  to  buy 
his  business,  and  very  likely  there  will  be  a  newspaper  to  print. 
So,  set  about  it,"  he  had  said. 

Petit-Claud  put  more  faith  in  Cerizet's  activity  than  in  all 
the  Doublons  in  existence  ;  and  then  it  was  that  he  promised 
Cointet  that  Sechard  should  be  arrested.  But  now  that  the 
little  lawyer  cherished  hopes  of  office  he  saw  that  he  must  turn 
his  back  upon  the  Liberals;  and,  meanwhile,  the  amount  for 
the  printing-office  had  been  subscribed  in  L'Houmeau.  Petit- 
Claud  decided  to  allow  things  to  take  their  natural  course. 

"  Pooh  !  "  he  thought,  "  Cerizet  will  get  into  trouble  with 
his  paper,  and  give  me  an  opportunity  of  displaying  my 
talents." 

He  walked  up  to  the  door  of  the  printing-office  and  spoke 
to  Kolb  the  sentinel.  "  Go  up  and  warn  David  that  he  had 
better  go  now,"  he  said,  "and  take  every  precaution.  I  am 
going  home;  it  is  one  o'clock." 

Marion  came  to  take  Kolb's  place.  Lucien  and  David 
came  down  together  and  went  out,  Kolb  a  hundred  paces 
ahead  of  them,  and  Marion  at  the  same  distance  behind. 
The  two  friends  walked  past  the  hoarding,  Lucien  talking 
eagerly  the  while. 

"  My  plan  is  extremely  simple,  David  ;  but  how  could  I 
tell  you  about  it  while  Eve  was  there?  She  would  never 
understand.  I  am  quite  sure  that  at  the  bottom  of  Louise's 
heart  there  is  a  feeling  that  I  can  rouse,  and  I  should  like  to 
awaken  it  if  it  is  only  to  avenge  myself  upon  that  idiot  the 
prefect.  If  our  love  affair  only  lasts  for  a  week,  I  will  con- 
trive to  send  an  application  through  her  for  a  subvention  of 
twenty  thousand  francs  for  you.  I  am  going  to  see  her  again 
to-morrow  in  the  little  boudoir  where  our  old  affair  of  the  heart 
began  ;  Petit-Claud  says  that  the  room  is  the  same  as  ever ;  I 


308  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

shall  play  my  part  in  the  comedy  ;  and  I  will  send  word  by 
Basine  to-morrow  morning  to  tell  you  whether  the  actor  was 
hissed.  You  may  be  at  liberty  by  then,  who  knows  ?  Now 
do  you  understand  how  it  was  that  I  wanted  clothes  from 
Paris?  One  cannot  act  the  lover's  part  in  rags." 

At  six  o'clock  that  morning  Cerizet  went  to  Petit-Claud. 

"  Doublon  can  be  ready  to  take  his  man  to-morrow  at 
noon,  I  will  answer  for  it,"  he  said  ;  "  I  know  one  of  Made- 
moiselle Clerget's  girls,  do  you  understand?"  Cerizet  un- 
folded his  plan,  and  Petit-Claud  hurried  to  find  Cointet. 

"  If  Monsieur  Francis  du  Hautoy  will  settle  his  property  on 
Franchise,  you  shall  sign  a  deed  of  partnership  with  Sechard 
in  two  days.  I  shall  not  be  married  for  a  week  after  the  con- 
tract is  signed,  so  we  shall  both  be  within  the  terms  of  our 
little  agreement,  tit-for-tat.  To-night,  however,  we  must 
keep  a  close  watch  over  Lucien  and  the  Countess  du  Chatelet, 
for  the  whole  business  lies  in  that.  If  Lucien  hopes  to 
succeed  through  the  Countess'  influence,  I  have  David  safe 
and " 

"  You  will  be  keeper  of  the  seals  yet,  it  is  my  belief,"  said 
Cointet. 

"And  why  not?  No  one  objects  to  Monsieur  de  Peyron- 
net,"  said  Petit-Claud.  He  had  not  altogether  sloughed  his 
skin  of  Liberalism. 

Mile,  de  la  Haye's  ambiguous  position  brought  most  of  the 
upper  town  to  the  signing  of  the  marriage-contract.  The 
comparative  poverty  of  the  young  couple  and  the  absence  of 
a  portion  quickened  the  interest  that  people  love  to  exhibit ; 
for  it  is  with  beneficence  as  with  ovations,  we  prefer  the  deeds 
of  charity  which  gratify  self-love.  The  Marquise  de  Pimentel, 
the  Comtesse  du  Chatelet,  M.  de  Senonches,  and  one  or  two 
frequenters  of  the  house  had  given  Franchise  a  few  wedding 
presents,  which  made  great  talk  in  the  city.  These  pretty 
trifles,  together  with  the  trousseau  which  Zephirine  had  been 
preparing  for  the  past  twelve  months,  the  godfather's  jewels, 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  309 

* 

and  the  usual  wedding  gifts,  consoled  Franchise  and  roused 
the  curiosity  of  some  mothers  of  daughters. 

Petit-Claud  and  Cointet  had  both  remarked  that  their  pres- 
ence in  the  Angouleme  Olympus  was  endured  rather  than 
courted.  Cointet  was  Frangoise's  trustee  and  quasi-guardian  ; 
and  if  Petit-Claud  was  to  sign  the  contract,  Petit-Claud's  pres- 
ence was  as  necessary  as  the  attendance  of  the  man  to  be 
hanged  at  an  execution ;  but  though,  once  married,  Mme. 
Petit-Claud  might  keep  her  right  of  entry  to  her  godmother's 
house,  Petit-Claud  foresaw  some  difficulty  on  his  own  account, 
and  resolved  to  be  beforehand  with  these  haughty  personages. 

He  felt  ashamed  of  his  parents.  He  had  sent  his  mother 
to  stay  at  Mansle ;  now  he  begged  her  to  say  that  she  was 
out  of  health  and  to  give  her  consent  in  writing.  So  humili- 
ating was  it  to  be  without  relations,  protectors,  or  witnesses  to 
his  signature,  that  Petit-Claud  thought  himself  in  luck  that 
he  could  bring  a  presentable  friend  at  the  Countess'  request. 
He  called  to  take  up  Lucien  and  they  drove  to  the  Hotel  de 
Bargeton. 

On  that  memorable  evening  the  poet  dressed  to  outshine 
every  man  present.  Mme.  de  Senonches  had  spoken  of  him 
as  the  hero  of  the  hour,  and  a  first  interview  between  two 
estranged  lovers  is  the  kind  of  scene  that  provincials  particu- 
larly love.  Lucien  had  come  to  be  the  lion  of  the  evening ; 
he  was  said  to  be  so  handsome,  so  much  changed,  so  wonder- 
ful, that  every  well-born  woman  in  Angouleme  was  curious  to 
see  him  again.  Following  the  fashion  of  the  transition  period 
between  the  eighteenth  century  small-clothes  and  the  vulgar 
costume  of  the  present  day,  he  wore  tight-fitting  black  trous- 
ers. Men  still  showed  their  figures  in  those  days,  to  the  utter 
despair  of  lean,  clumsily  made  mortals;  and  Lucien  was  an 
Apollo.  The  open-work,  gray  silk  stockings,  the  neat  shoes, 
and  the  black  satin  vest  were  scrupulously  drawn  over  his 
person,  and  seemed  to  cling  to  him.  His  forehead  looked 
the  whiter  by  contrast  with  the  thick,  bright  curls  that  rose 


310  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

¥ 

above  it  with  studied  grace.  The  proud  eyes  were  radiant. 
The  hands,  small  as  a  woman's,  never  showed  to  better  advan- 
tage than  when  gloved.  He  had  modeled  himself  upon  de 
Marsay,  the  famous  Parisian  dandy,  holding  his  hat  and  cane 
in  one  hand,  and  keeping  the  other  free  for  the  very  occa- 
sional gestures  which  illustrated  his  talk. 

Lucien  had  quite  intended  to  emulate  the  famous  false 
modesty  of  those  who  bend  their  heads  to  pass  beneath  the 
Porte  Saint-Denis,  and  to  slip  unobserved  into  the  room  ; 
but  Petit-Claud,  having  but  one  friend,  made  him  useful. 
He  brought  Lucien  almost  pompously  through  a  crowded 
room  to  Mme.  de  Senonches.  The  poet  heard  a  murmur  as 
he  passed  ;  not  so  very  long  ago  that  hum  of  voices  would 
have  turned  his  head ;  to-day  he  was  quite  indifferent ;  he 
did  not  doubt  but  that  he  himself  was  greater  than  the  whole 
Olympus  put  together. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  addressing  Mme.  de  Senonches,  "I 
have  already  congratulated  my  friend  Petit-Claud  (a  man 
with  the  stuff  in  him  of  which  keepers  of  the  seals  are  made) 
on  the  honor  of  his  approaching  connection  with  you,  slight 
as  are  the  ties  between  godmother  and  goddaughter— 
(this  with  the  air  of  a  man  uttering  an  epigram,  by  no  means 
lost  upon  any  woman  in  the  room,  for  every  woman  was  lis- 
tening, without  appearing  to  do  so).  "  And  for  myself,"  he 
continued,  "  I  am  delighted  to  have  the  opportunity  of  paying 
my  homage  to  you." 

He  spoke  easily  and  fluently,  as  some  great  lord  might 
speak  under  the  roof  of  his  inferiors ;  and,  as  he  listened  to 
Z6phirine's  involved  reply,  he  cast  a  glance  over  the  room  to 
consider  the  effect  that  he  wished  to  make.  The  pause  gave 
him  time  to  discover  Francis  du  Hautoy  and  the  prefect ;  to 
bow  gracefully  to  each  with  the  proper  shade  of  difference  in 
his  smile ;  and,  finally,  to  approach  Mme.  du  Ch^telet  as  if 
he  had  just  caught  sight  of  her.  That  meeting  was  the  real 
event  of  the  evening.  No  one  so  much  as  thought  of  the 


LOST  ILLUSION'S.  311 

marriage-contract  lying  in  the  adjoining  bedroom,  whither 
Francoise  and  the  notary  led  guest  after  guest  to  sign  the  doc- 
ument. Lucien  made  a  step  toward  Louise  de  Negrepelisse, 
and  then  spoke  with  that  grace  of  manner  now  associated,  for 
her,  with  memories  of  Paris. 

"  Do  I  owe  to  you,  madame,  the  pleasure  of  an  invita- 
tion to  dine  at  the  prefecture  the  day  after  to-morrow?"  he 
said. 

"You  owe  it  solely  to  your  fame,  monsieur,"  Louise 
answered  drily,  somewhat  taken  aback  by  the  turn  of  a 
phrase  by  which  Lucien  deliberately  tried  to  wound  her 
pride. 

"Ah  !  Madame  la  Comtesse,  I  cannot  bring  you  the  guest 
if  the  man  is  in  disgrace,"  said  Lucien,  with  a  perceptible 
significance  in  his  coxcomb  manners,  and,  without  waiting 
for  an  answer,  he  turned  and  greeted  the  bishop  with  stately 
grace. 

"Your  lordship's  prophecy  has  been  partially  fulfilled," 
he  said,  and  there  was  a  winning  charm  in  his  tones;  "I 
will  endeavor  to  fulfill  it  to  the  letter.  I  consider  myself 
very  fortunate  since  this  evening  brings  me  an  opportunity  of 
paying  my  respects  to  you." 

Lucien  drew  the  bishop  into  a  conversation  that  lasted  for 
ten  minutes.  The  women  looked  on  Lucien  as  a  phenomenon. 
His  unexpected  insolence  had  struck  Mme.  du  Chatelet  dumb; 
she  could  not  find  an  answer.  Looking  round  the  room  she 
saw  that  every  woman  admired  Lucien  ;  she  watched  group 
after  group  repeating  the  phrases  by  which  Lucien  crushed 
her  with  seeming  disdain,  and  her  heart  contracted  with  a 
spasm  of  mortification. 

"Suppose  that  he  should  not  come  to  the  prefecture  after 
this,  what  talk  there  would  be  !  "  she  thought.  "  Where  did 
he  learn  his  pride?  Can  Mademoiselle  des  Touches  have 
taken  a  fancy  for  him  ?  He  is  so  handsome.  They  say  that 
she  hurried  to  see  him  in  Paris  the  day  after  that  actress  died. 


312  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Perhaps  he  has  come  to  the  rescue  of  his  brother-in-law,  and 
happened  to  be  behind  our  caleche  at  Mansle  by  accident. 
Lucien  looked  at  us  very  strangely  that  morning." 

A  crowd  of  thoughts  crossed  Louise's  brain  and,  unluckily 
for  her,  she  continued  to  ponder  visibly  as  she  watched  Lu- 
cien. He  was  talking  with  the  bishop  as  if  he  were  the  king 
of  the  room ;  making  no  effort  to  find  any  one  out,  waiting 
till  others  came  to  him,  looking  round  about  him  with  vary- 
ing expression,  and  as  much  at  his  ease  as  his  model  de  Mar- 
say.  M.  de  Senonches  appeared  at  no  great  distance,  but 
Lucien  still  stood  beside  the  prelate. 

At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  Louise  could  contain  herself  no 
longer.  She  rose  and  went  over  to  the  bishop,  and  said — 

"What  is  being  said,  my  lord,  that  you  smile  so  often?" 

Lucien  drew  back  discreetly,  and  left  Mme.  du  Chatelet 
with  his  lordship. 

"Ah!  Madame  la  Comtesse,  what  a  clever  young  fellow 
he  is  !  He  was  explaining  to  me  that  he  owed  all  that  he  is 
to  you " 

"/am  not  ungrateful,  madame,"  said  Lucien,  with  a  re- 
proachful glance  that  charmed  the  Countess. 

"Let  us  have  an  understanding,"  she  said,  beckoning  him 
with  her  fan.  "  Come  into  the  boudoir.  My  lord  bishop, 
you  shall  judge  between  us." 

"  She  has  found  a  funny  task  for  his  lordship,"  said  one  of 
the  Chandour  camp,  audibly. 

"Judge  between  us  !  "  repeated  Lucien,  looking  from  the 
prelate  to  the  lady ;  "  then,  is  one  of  us  in  fault  ?  " 

Louise  de  Negrepelisse  sat  down  on  the  sofa  in  the  familiar 
boudoir.  She  made  the  bishop  sit  on  one  side  and  Lucien 
on  the  other,  then  she  began  to  speak.  But  Lucien,  to  the 
joy  and  surprise  of  his  old  love,  honored  her  with  inattention  ; 
her  words  fell  unheeded  on  his  ears  ;  he  sat  like  Pasta  in 
"  Tancredi,"  with  the  words  "O  patria !  "  upon  her  lips, 
the  music  of  the  great  cavatina  Dell  Rizzo  might  have  passed 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  313 

into  his  face.  Indeed,  Coralie's  pupil  had  contrived  to  bring 
the  tears  to  his  eyes. 

"  Oh  !  Louise,  how  I  loved  you  !  "  he  murmured,  careless 
of  the  bishop's  presence,  heedless  of  the  conversation,  as  soon 
as  he  knew  that  the  Countess  had  seen  the  tears. 

"  Dry  your  eyes,  or  you  will  ruin  me  here  a  second  time," 
she  said  in  an  aside  that  horrified  the  prelate. 

"  And  once  is  enough,"  was  Lucien's  quick  retort.  "  That 
speech  from  Madame  d'Espard's  cousin  would  dry  the  eyes 
of  a  weeping  Magdalen.  Oh,  me  !  for  a  little  moment  old 
memories,  and  lost  illusions,  and  my  twentieth  year  came 
back  to  me,  and  you  have " 

His  lordship  hastily  retreated  to  the  drawing-room  at  this; 
it  seemed  to  him  that  his  dignity  was  like  to  be  compromised 
by  this  sentimental  pair.  Every  one  ostentatiously  refrained 
from  interrupting  them,  and  a  quarter  of  an  hour  went  by ; 
till  at  last  Sixte  du  Chdtelet,  vexed  by  the  laughter  and  talk, 
and  excursions  to  the  boudoir  door,  went  in  with  a  counte- 
nance distinctly  overclouded,  and  found  Louise  and  Lucien 
talking  excitedly. 

"  Madame,"  said  Sixte  in  his  wife's  ear,  "  you  know  An- 
goulSme  better  than  I  do,  and  surely  you  should  think  of  your 
position  as  Madame  la  PreTete  and  of  the  Government?  " 

"My  dear,"  said  Louise,  scanning  her  responsible  editor 
with  a  haughtiness  that  made  him  quake,  "  I  am  talking  with 
Monsieur  de  Rubempre  of  matters  which  interest  you.  It  is 
a  question  of  rescuing  an  inventor  about  to  fall  a  victim  to 
the  basest  machinations ;  you  will  help  us.  As  to  those 
ladies  yonder,  and  their  opinion  of  me,  you  shall  see  how  I 
will  freeze  the  venom  of  their  tongues." 

She  came  out  of  the  boudoir  on  Lucien's  arm,  and  drew 
him  across  to  sign  the  contract  with  a  great  lady's  audacity. 

"  Write  your  name  after  mine,"  she  said,  handing  him  the 
pen.  And  Lucien  submissively  signed  in  the  place  indicated 
beneath  her  name. 


3H  LOST  ILLUSIONS, 

"  Monsieur  de  Senonches,  would  you  have  recognized  Mon- 
sieur du  Rubempre?  "  she  continued,  and  the  insolent  sports- 
man was  compelled  to  greet  Lucien. 

She  returned  to  the  drawing-room  on  Lucien's  arm,  and 
seated  him  on  the  awe-inspiring  central  sofa  between  herself 
and  Zephirine.  There,  enthroned  like  a  queen,  she  began, 
at  first  in  a  low  voice,  a  conversation  in  which  epigram  evi- 
dently was  not  wanting.  Some  of  her  old  friends,  and  several 
women  who  paid  court  to  her,  came  to  join  the  group,  and 
Lucien  soon  became  the  hero  of  the  circle.  The  Countess 
drew  him  out  on  the  subject  of  life  in  Paris ;  his  satirical  talk 
flowed  with  spontaneous  and  incredible  spirit ;  he  told  anec- 
dotes of  celebrities,  those  conversational  luxuries  which  the 
provincial  devours  with  such  avidity.  His  wit  was  as  much 
admired  as  his  good  looks.  And  Mme.  la  Comtesse  Sixte  du 
Chatelet,  preparing  Lucien's  triumph  so  patiently,  sat  like  a 
player  enraptured  with  the  sound  of  his  instrument ;  she  gave 
him  opportunities  for  a  reply ;  she  looked  around  the  circle 
for  applause  so  openly  that  not  a  few  of  the  women  began  to 
think  that  their  return  together  was  something  more  than  a 
coincidence,  and  that  Lucien  and  Louise,  loving  with  all  their 
hearts,  had  been  separated  by  a  double  treason.  Pique,  very 
likely,  had  brought  about  this  ill-starred  match  with  Chatelet. 
And  a  reaction  set  in  against  the  prefect. 

Before  the  Countess  rose  to  go  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, she  turned  to  Lucien  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Do  me 
the  pleasure  of  coming  punctually  to-morrow  evening." 
Then,  with  the  friendliest  little  nod,  she  went,  saying  a  few 
words  to  Chatelet,  who  was  looking  for  his  hat. 

"If  Madame  du  Chatelet  has  given  me  a  correct  idea  of 
the  state  of  affairs,  count  on  me,  my  dear  Lucien,"  said  the 
prefect,  preparing  to  hurry  after  his  wife.  She  was  going 
away  without  him,  after  the  Paris  fashion.  "  Your  brother- 
in-law  may  consider  that  his  troubles  are  at  an  end,"  he  added 
as  he  went. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  315 

"Monsieur  le  Comte  surely  owes  me  so  much,"  smiled 
Lucien. 

Cointet  and  Petit-Claud  heard  these  farewell  speeches  with 
consternation. 

"  Well,  well,  we  are  done  for  now,"  Cointet  muttered  in 
his  confederate's  ear.  Petit-Claud,  thunderstruck  by  Lucien's 
success,  amazed  by  his  brilliant  wit  and  varying  charm,  was 
gazing  at  Francoise  de  la  Haye  ;  the  girl's  whole  face  was  full 
of  admiration  for  Lucien.  "  Be  like  your  friend,"  she  seemed 
to  say  to  her  betrothed.  A  gleam  of  joy  flitted  over  Petit- 
Claud's  countenance. 

"  We  have  still  a  whole  day  before  the  prefect's  dinner;  I 
will  answer  for  everything." 

An  hour  later,  as  Petit-Claud  and  Lucien  walked  home 
together,  Lucien  talked  of  his  success.  "Well,  my  dear 
fellow,  I  came,  I  saw,  I  conquered  !  Sechard  will  be  very 
happy  in  a  few  hours'  time." 

"Just  what  I  wanted  to  know,"  thought  Petit-Claud. 
Aloud  he  said — "  I  thought  you  were  simply  a  poet,  Lucien, 
but  you  are  a  Lauzun  too,  that  is  to  say — twice  a  poet,"  and 
they  shook  hands — for  the  last  time,  as  it  proved. 

"Good  news,  dear  Eve,"  said  Lucien,  waking  his  sister, 
"  David  will  have  no  debts  in  less  than  a  month  !  " 

"How  is  that?" 

"  Well,  my  Louise  is  still  hidden  by  Madame  du  Ch&telet's 
petticoat.  She  loves  me  more  than  ever;  she  will  send  a 
favorable  report  of  our  discovery  to  the  Minister  of  the  Inte- 
rior through  her  husband.  So  we  have  only  to  endure  our 
troubles  for  one  month,  while  I  avenge  myself  on  the  prefect 
and  complete  the  happiness  of  his  married  life." 

Eve  listened  and  thought  that  she  must  be  dreaming. 

"I  saw  the  little  gray  drawing-room  where  I  trembled  like 
a  child  two  years  ago ;  it  seemed  as  if  scales  fell  from  my  eyes 
when  I  saw  the  furniture  and  the  pictures  and  the  faces  again. 
How  Paris  changes  one's  ideas  !  " 


816  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"Is  that  a  good  thing?  "  asked  Eve,  at  last  beginning  to 
understand. 

"  Come,  come ;  you  are  still  asleep.  We  will  talk  about  it 
to-morrow  after  breakfast." 

Cerizet's  plot  was  exceedingly  simple,  a  commonplace 
stratagem  familiar  to  the  provincial  bailiff.  Its  success  entirely 
depends  upon  circumstances,  and  in  this  case  it  was  certain, 
so  intimate  was  Cerizet's  knowledge  of  the  characters  and 
hopes  of  those  concerned.  Cerizet  had  been  a  kind  of  Don 
Juan  among  the  young  workgirls,  ruling  his  victims  by  playing 
off  one  against  another.  Since  he  had  been  the  Cointets' 
extra  foreman,  he  had  singled  out  one  of  Basine  Clerget's  as- 
sistants, a  girl  almost  as  handsome  as  Mme.  Sechard.  Hen- 
riette  Signol's  parents  owned  a  small  vineyard  two  leagues  out 
of  Angouleme,  on  the  road  to  Saintes.  The  Signols,  like 
everybody  else  in  the  country,  could  not  afford  to  keep  their 
only  child  at  home ;  so  they  meant  her  to  go  out  to  service, 
in  country  phrase.  The  art  of  clear-starching  is  a  part  of 
every  country  housemaid's  training  ;  and  so  great  was  Mme. 
Prieur's  reputation  that  the  Signols  sent  Henriette  to  her  as 
apprentice  and  paid  for  their  daughter's  board  and  lodging. 

Mme.  Prieur  was  one  of  the  old-fashioned  mistresses,  who 
consider  that  they  fill  a  parents'  place  toward  their  appren- 
tices. They  were  a  part  of  the  family  ;  she  took  them  with 
her  to  church  and  looked  scrupulously  after  them.  Henriette 
Signol  was  a  tall,  fine-looking  girl,  with  bold  eyes,  and  long, 
thick,  dark  hair,  and  the  pale,  very  fair  complexion  of  girls 
in  the  South — white  as  a  magnolia  flower.  For  which  reasons 
Henriette  was  one  of  the  first  on  whom  Cerizet  cast  his  eyes  ; 
but  Henriette  came  of  "honest  farmer  folk,"  and  only 
yielded  at  last  to  jealousy,  to  bad  example,  and  the  treacherous 
promise  of  subsequent  marriage.  By  this  time  Cerizet  was  the 
Cointets'  foreman.  When  he  learned  that  the  Signols  owned 
a  vineyard  worth  some  ten  or  twelve  thousand  francs  and  a 
tolerably  comfortable  cottage,  he  hastened  to  make  it  impos- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  317 

sible  for  Henriette  to  marry  any  one  else.  Affairs  had  reached 
this  point  when  Petit-Claud  held  out  the  prospect  of  a  print- 
ing-office and  twenty  thousand  francs  of  borrowed  capital, 
which  was  to  prove  a  yoke  upon  the  borrower's  neck.  Cerizet 
was  dazzled,  the  offer  turned  his  head  ;  Henriette  Signol  was 
now  only  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  his  ambitions,  so  he 
neglected  the  poor  girl.  Henriette,  in  her  despair,  clung 
more  closely  to  her  seducer  as  he  tried  to  shake  her  off.  When 
Cerizet  began  to  suspect  that  David  was  hiding  in  Basine's 
house,  his  views  with  regard  to  Henriette  underwent  another 
change,  though  he  treated  her  as  before.  A  kind  of  frenzy 
works  in  a  girl's  brain  when  she  must  marry  her  seducer  to 
conceal  her  dishonor,  and  Cerizet  was  on  the  watch  to  turn 
this  madness  to  his  own  account. 

During  the  morning  of  the  day  when  Lucien  had  set  himself 
to  reconquer  his  Louise,  Cerizet  told  Basine's  secret  to  Hen- 
riette, giving  her  to  understand  at  the  same  time  that  their 
marriage  and  future  prospects  depended  upon  the  discovery 
of  David's  hiding-place.  Thus  instructed,  Henriette  easily 
made  certain  of  the  fact  that  David  was  in  Basine  Clerget's 
inner  room.  It  never  occurred  to  the  girl  that  she  was  doing 
wrong  to  act  the  spy,  and  Cdrizet  involved  her  in  the  guilt  of 
betrayal  by  this  first  step. 

Lucien  was  still  sleeping  while  Cerizet,  closeted  with  Petit- 
Claud,  heard  the  history  of  the  important  trifles  with  which 
all  Angouleme  presently  would  ring. 

The  Cointets'  foreman  gave  a  satisfied  nod  as  Petit-Claud 
came  to  an  end.  "  Lucien  surely  has  written  you  a  line  since 
he  came  back,  has  he  not  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  This  is  all  that  I  have,"  answered  the  lawyer,  and  he  held 
out  a  note  written  him  by  Lucien  on  Mme.  Sechard's  writing- 
paper. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Cerizet,  "  let  Doublon  be  in  wait  at  the 
Palet  Gate  about  ten  minutes  before  sunset ;  tell  him  to  post 
the  police,  and  you  shall  have  our  man." 


318  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"Are  you  sure  of  your  part  of  the  business?"  asked  Petit- 
Claud,  scanning  Cerizet. 

"I  rely  on  chance,"  said  the  ex-street  boy,  "and  she  is  a 
saucy  hussy;  she  does  not  like  honest  folk." 

"You  must  succeed,"  the  lawyer  said  drily. 

"I  shall  succeed,"  said  Cerizet.  "  You  have  pushed  me 
into  this  dirty  business ;  you  may  as  well  let  me  have  a  few 
bank-notes  to  wipe  off  the  stains."  Then  detecting  a  look 
that  he  did  not  like  in  the  attorney's  face,  he  continued,  with 
a  deadly  glance,  "If  you  have  cheated  me,  sir,  if  you  don't 
buy  the  printing-office  for  me  within  a  week — you  will  leave  a 
young  widow;  "  he  lowered  his  voice. 

"  If  we  have  David  on  the  jail  register  at  six  o'clock,  come 
around  to  Monsieur  Gannerac's  at  nine,  and  we  will  settle 
your  business,"  Petit-Claud  answered  peremptorily. 

"  Agreed.    Your  will  shall  be  done,  governor,"  said  Cerizet. 

Cerizet  understood  the  art  of  washing  paper,  a  dangerous 
art  for  the  Treasury.  He  washed  out  Lucien's  four  lines  and 
replaced  them,  imitating  the  handwriting  with  a  dexterity 
which  augured  ill  for  his  own  future : 

"Mv  DEAR  DAVID: — Your  business  is  settled;   you  need 
not  fear  to  go  to  the  prefect.    You  can  go  out  at  sunset.    I  will 
come  to  meet  you  and  tell  you  what  to  do  at  the  prefecture. 
"  Your  brother,  LUCIEN." 

At  noon  Lucien  wrote  to  David  telling  him  of  his  evening's 
success.  The  prefect  would  be  sure  to  lend  his  influence,  he 
said ;  he  was  full  of  enthusiasm  over  the  invention,  and  was 
drawing  up  a  report  that  very  day  to  send  to  the  government. 
Marion  carried  the  letter  to  Basine,  taking  some  of  Lucien's 
linen  to  the  laundry  as  a  pretext  for  the  errand. 

Petit-Claud  had  told  Cerizet  that  a  letter  would  in  all 
probability  be  sent.  Cerizet  called  for  Mile.  Signol,  and  the 
two  walked  by  the  Charente.  Henriette's  integrity  must  have 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  319 

held  out  for  a  long  while  for  the  walk  lasted  for  two  hours. 
A  whole  future  of  happiness  and  ease  and  the  interests  of  a 
child  were  at  stake,  and  Cerizet  asked  a  mere  trifle  of  her. 
He  was  very  careful  beside  to  say  nothing  of  the  consequences 
of  that  trifle.  She  was  only  to  carry  a  letter  and  a  message, 
that  was  all ;  but  it  was  the  greatness  of  the  reward  for  the 
trifling  service  that  frightened  Henriette.  Nevertheless, 
Cerizet  gained  her  consent  at  last ;  she  would  help  him  in  his 
stratagem. 

At  five  o'clock  Henriette  must  go  out  and  come  in  again, 
telling  Basine  Clerget  that  Mme.  S6chard  wanted  to  speak  to 
her  at  once.  Fifteen  minutes  after  Basine's  departure  she 
must  go  upstairs,  knock  at  the  door  of  the  inner  room,  and 
give  David  the  forged  note.  That  was  all.  Cdrizet  looked 
to  chance  to  manage  the  rest. 

For  the  first  time  in  twelve  months  Eve  felt  the  iron  grasp 
of  necessity  relax  a  little.  She  began  at  last  to  hope.  She, 
too,  would  enjoy  her  brother's  visit ;  she  would  show  herself 
abroad  on  the  arm  of  a  man  fgted  in  his  native  town,  adored 
by  the  women,  beloved  by  the  proud  Comtesse  du  Chatelet. 
She  dressed  herself  prettily,  and  proposed  to  walk  out  after 
dinner  with  her  brother  to  Beaulieu.  In  September  all  Angou- 
leme  comes  out  at  that  hour  to  breathe  the  fresh  and  fragrant 
air. 

"Oh  !  that  is  the  beautiful  Madame  S£chard,"  voices  said 
here  and  there. 

"  I  should  never  have  believed  it  of  her,"  said  a  woman. 

"The  husband  is  in  hiding  and  the  wife  walks  abroad," 
said  Mme.  Postel  for  young  Mme.  Sechard's  benefit. 

"  Oh,  let  us  go  home,"  said  poor  Eve  ;  "  I  have  made  a 
mistake." 

A  few  minutes  before  sunset  the  sound  of  a  crowd  arose 
from  the  steps  that  lead  down  to  L'Houmeau.  Apparently 
some  crime  had  been  committed,  for  persons  coming  from 


320  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

L'Houmeau  were  talking  among  themselves.  Curiosity  drew 
Lucien  and  Eve  toward  the  steps, 

"A  thief  has  just  been  arrested  no  doubt,  the  man  looks  as 
pale  as  death,"  one  of  these  passers-by  said  to  the  brother 
and  sister.  The  crowd  grew  larger. 

Lucien  and  Eve  watched  a  group  of  some  thirty  children, 
old  women,  and  men,  returning  from  work,  clustering  about 
the  officers,  whose  gold-laced  caps  gleamed  above  the  heads 
of  the  rest.  About  a  hundred  persons  followed  the  proces- 
sion, the  crowd  gathering  like  a  storm-cloud. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  my  husband  !  "  Eve  cried  out. 

"David  !"  exclaimed  Lucien. 

"It  is  his  wife,"  said  voices,  and  the  crowd  made  way. 

"  What  made  you  come  out  ?  "  asked  Lucien. 

"Your  letter,"  said  David,  haggard  and  white. 

"  I  knew  it !  "  said  Eve,  and  she  fainted  away.  Lucien 
raised  his  sister,  and  with  the  help  of  two  strangers  he  carried 
her  home  ;  Marion  laid  her  in  bed,  and  Kolb  rushed  off  for 
a  doctor.  Eve  was  still  insensible  when  the  doctor  arrived  ; 
and  Lucien  was  obliged  to  confess  to  his  mother  that  he  was 
the  cause  of  David's  arrest ;  for  he,  of  course,  knew  nothing 
of  the  forged  letter  and  Cerizet's  stratagem.  Then  he  went 
up  to  his  room  and  locked  himself  in,  struck  dumb  by  the 
malediction  in  his  mother's  eyes. 

In  the  dead  of  night  he  wrote  one  more  letter  amid  con- 
stant interruptions ;  the  reader  can  divine  the  agony  of  the 
writer's  mind  from  those  phrases,  jerked  out,  as  it  were,  one 
by  one : 

"  MY  BELOVED  SISTER  : — We  have  seen  each  other  for  the 
last  time.  My  resolution  is  final,  and  for  this  reason  :  In 
many  families  there  is  one  unlucky  member,  a  kind  of  disease 
in  their  midst.  I  am  that  unlucky  one  in  our  family.  The 
observation  is  not  mine ;  it  was  made  at  a  friendly  supper 
one  evening  at  the  Rocher  de  Cancale  by  a  diplomatist  who 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  321 

has  seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world.  While  we  laughed  and 
joked,  he  explained  the  reason  why  some  young  lady  or  other 
remained  unmarried,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  world — it  was 
'  a  touch  of  her  father,'  he  said,  and  with  that  he  unfolded 
his  theory  of  inherited  weaknesses.  He  told  us  how  such  and 
such  a  family  would  have  flourished  but  for  the  mother  ;  how 
it  was  that  a  son  had  ruined  his  father,  or  a  father  had  stripped 
his  children  of  prospects  and  respectability.  It  was  said  laugh- 
ingly, but  we  thought  of  so  many  cases  in  point  in  ten  min- 
utes that  I  was  struck  with  the  theory.  The  amount  of  truth 
in  it  furnished  all  sorts  of  wild  paradoxes,  which  journalists 
maintain  cleverly  enough  for  their  own  amusement  when  there 
is  nobody  else  at  hand  to  mystify.  I  bring  bad  luck  to  our 
family.  My  heart  is  full  of  love  for  you,  yet  I  behave  like  an 
enemy.  The  blow  dealt  unintentionally  is  the  crudest  blow 
of  all.  While  I  was  leading  a  bohemian  life  in  Paris,  a  life 
made  up  of  pleasure  and  misery;  taking  good-fellowship  for 
friendship,  forsaking  my  true  friends  for  those  who  wished  to 
exploit  me,  and  succeeded ;  forgetful  of  you,  or  remembering 
you  only  to  cause  you  trouble — all  that  while  you  were  walk- 
ing in  the  humble  path  of  hard  work,  making  your  way  slowly 
but  surely  to  the  fortune  which  I  tried  so  madly  to  snatch. 
While  you  grew  better,  I  grew  worse  ;  a  fatal  element  entered 
into  my  life  through  my  own  choice.  Yes,  unbounded  am- 
bition makes  an  obscure  existence  simply  impossible  for  me. 
I  have  tastes  and  remembrances  of  past  pleasures  that  poison 
the  enjoyments  within  my  reach ;  once  I  should  have  been 
satisfied  with  them,  now  it  is  too  late.  Oh,  dear  Eve,  no  one 
can  think  more  hardly  of  me  than  I  do  myself;  my  condem- 
nation is  absolute  and  pitiless.  The  struggle  in  Paris  demands 
steady  effort ;  my  will  power  is  spasmodic,  my  brain  works 
intermittently.  The  future  is  so  appalling  that  I  do  not  care 
to  face  it,  and  the  present  is  intolerable. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you  again.     I  should  have  done  better  to 
stay  in  exile  all  my  days.     But  exile  without  means  of  sub- 
21 


322  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

sistence  would  be  madness ;  I  will  not  add  another  folly  to 
the  rest.  Death  is  better  than  a  maimed  life ;  I  cannot  think 
of  myself  in  any  position  in  which  my  overweening  vanity 
would  not  lead  me  into  folly. 

"  Some  human  beings  are  like  the  figure  O,  another  must 
be  put  before  it,  and  they  acquire  ten  times  their  value.  I  am 
nothing  unless  a  strong  inexorable  will  is  wedded  to  mine. 
Mme.  de  Bargeton  was  in  truth  my  wife ;  when  I  refused  to 
leave  Coralie  for  her  I  spoiled  my  life.  You  and  David 
might  have  been  excellent  pilots  for  me,  but  you  are  not 
strong  enough  to  tame  my  weakness,  which  in  some  sort 
eludes  control.  I  like  an  easy  life,  a  life  without  cares ;  to 
clear  an  obstacle  out  of  my  way  I  can  descend  to  baseness 
that  sticks  at  nothing.  I  was  born  a  prince.  I  have  more 
than  the  requisite  intellectual  dexterity  for  success,  but  only 
by  moments ;  and  the  prizes  of  a  career  so  crowded  by  ambi- 
tious competitors  are  to  those  who  expend  no  more  than  the 
necessary  strength  and  retain  a  sufficient  reserve  power  when 
they  reach  the  goal. 

"I  shall  do  harm  again  with  the  best  intentions  in  the 
world.  Some  men  are  like  oaks,  I  am  a  delicate  shrub  it  may 
be,  and  I  forsooth  must  needs  aspire  to  be  a  forest  cedar. 

"There  you  have  my  bankrupt's  schedule.  The  dispro- 
portion between  my  powers  and  my  desires,  my  want  of 
balance,  in  short,  will  bring  all  my  efforts  to  nothing.  There 
are  many  such  characters  among  men  of  letters,  many  men 
whose  intellectual  powers  and  character  are  always  at  variance, 
who  will  one  thing  and  wish  another.  What  would  become 
of  me  ?  I  can  see  it  all  beforehand,  as  I  think  of  this  and 
that  great  light  that  once  shone  on  Paris,  now  utterly  for- 
gotten. On  the  threshold  of  old  age  I  shall  be  a  man  older 
than  my  age,  needy  and  without  a  name.  My  whole  soul 
rises  up  against  the  thought  of  such  a  close ;  I  will  not  be  a 
social  rag.  Ah,  dear  sister,  loved  and  worshiped  at  least  as 
much  for  your  severity  at  the  last  as  for  your  tenderness  at 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  323 

the  first — if  we  have  paid  so  dear  for  my  joy  at  seeing  you  all 
once  more,  you  and  David  may  perhaps  some  day  think  that 
you  could  grudge  no  price  however  high  for  a  little  last  hap- 
piness for  an  unhappy  creature  who  loved  you.  Do  not  try 
to  find  me,  Eve ;  do  not  seek  to  know  what  becomes  of  me. 
My  intellect  for  once  shall  be  backed  by  my  will.  Renun- 
ciation, my  angel,  is  daily  death  of  self;  my  renunciation 
will  only  last  for  one  day  ;  I  will  take  advantage  now  of  that 

day 

"  Two  o'clock. 

"  Yes,  I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind.  Farewell  forever, 
dear  Eve.  There  is  something  sweet  in  the  thought  that  I 
shall  live  only  in  your  hearts  henceforth,  and  I  wish  no  other 
burying  place.  Once  more,  farewell.  That  is  the  last  word 
from  your  brother. 

"  LUCIEN." 

Lucien  read  the  letter  over,  crept  noiselessly  downstairs, 
and  left  it  in  the  child's  cradle ;  amid  falling  tears  he  set  a 
last  kiss  on  the  forehead  of  his  sleeping  sister  ;  then  he  went 
out.  He  put  out  his  candle  in  the  gray  dusk,  took  a  last 
look  at  the  old  house,  stole  softly  along  the  passage,  and 
opened  the  street  door ;  but,  in  spite  of  his  caution,  he 
awakened  Kolb,  who  slept  on  a  mattress  on  the  workshop 
floor. 

"Who  goes  there?"  cried  Kolb. 

"  It  is  I,  Lucien  ;  I  am  going  away,  Kolb." 

"You  vould  haf  done  better  gif  you  hat  nefer  kom,"  Kolb 
muttered  audibly. 

"I  should  have  done  better  still  if  I  had  never  come  into 
the  world,"  Lucien  answered.  "Good-by,  Kolb;  I  don't 
bear  you  any  grudge  for  thinking  as  I  think  myself.  Tell 
David  that  I  was  sorry  that  I  could  not  bid  him  good-by,  and 
say  that  this  was  my  last  thought." 

By  the  time  the  Alsacien  was  up  and  dressed,  Lucien  had 


324  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

shut  the  house-door,  and  was  on  his  way  toward  the  Charente 
by  the  Promenade  de  Beaulieu.  He  might  have  been  going 
to  a  festival,  for  he  had  put  on  his  new  clothes  from  Paris  and 
his  dandy's  trinkets  for  a  drowning  shroud.  Something  in 
Lucien's  tone  had  struck  Kolb.  At  first  the  man  thought  of 
going  to  ask  his  mistress  whether  she  knew  that  her  brother 
had  left  the  house ;  but,  as  the  deepest  silence  prevailed,  he 
concluded  that  the  departure  had  been  arranged  beforehand, 
and  lay  down  again  and  slept. 

Little,  considering  the  gravity  of  the  question,  has  been 
written  on  the  subject  of  suicide ;  it  has  not  been  studied. 
Perhaps  it  is  a  disease  that  cannot  be  observed.  Suicide  is 
one  effect  of  a  sentiment  which  we  will  call  self-esteem,  if  you 
will,  to  prevent  confusion  by  using  the  word  "  honor."  When 
a  man  despises  himself  and  sees  that  others  despise  him,  when 
real  life  fails  to  fulfill  his  hopes,  then  comes  the  moment  when 
he  takes  his  life  and  thereby  does  homage  to  society — shorn  of 
his  virtues  or  his  splendor,  he  does  not  care  to  face  his  fel- 
lows. Among  atheists — Christians  being  without  the  ques- 
tion of  suicide — among  atheists,  whatever  may  be  said  to  the 
contrary,  none  but  a  base  coward  can  take  up  a  dishonored 
life. 

There  are  three  kinds  of  suicide — the  first  is  only  the  last 
and  acute  stage  of  a  long  illness,  and  this  kind  belongs  dis- 
tinctly to  pathology  ;  the  second  is  the  suicide  of  despair ;  and 
the  third  the  suicide  based  on  logical  argument.  Despair  and 
deductive  reasoning  had  brought  Lucien  to  this  pass,  but 
both  varieties  are  curable  ;  it  is  only  the  pathological  suicide 
that  is  inevitable.  Not  unfrequently  you  find  all  three  causes 
combined,  as  in  the  case  of  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau. 

Lucien,  having  made  up  his  mind,  fell  to  considering 
methods.  The  poet  would  fain  die  as  became  a  poet.  At 
first  he  thought  of  throwing  himself  into  the  Charente  and 
making  an  end  then  and  there ;  but  as  he  came  down  the  steps 
from  Beaulieu  for  the  last  time,  he  heard  the  whole  town 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  325 

talking  of  his  suicide ;  he  saw  the  horrid  sight  of  a  drowned 
dead  body,  and  thought  of  the  recognition  and  the  inquest ; 
and,  like  some  other  suicides,  felt  that  vanity  reached  beyond 
death. 

He  remembered  the  day  spent  at  Courtois'  mill,  and  his 
thoughts  returned  to  the  round  pool  among  the  willows  that 
he  saw  as  he  came  along  by  the  little  river,  such  a  pool  as  you 
often  find  on  small  streams,  with  a  still,  smooth  surface  that 
conceals  great  depths  beneath.  The  water  is  neither  green 
nor  blue  nor  white  nor  tawny;  it  is  like  a  polished  steel  mirror. 
No  sword-grass  grows  about  the  margin ;  there  are  no  blue 
water  forget-me-nots,  nor  broad  lily  leaves ;  the  grass  at  the 
brim  is  short  and  thick,  and  the  weeping  willows  that  droop 
over  the  edge  grow  picturesquely  enough.  It  is  easy  to  im- 
agine a  sheer  precipice  beneath  filled  with  water  to  the  brim. 
Any  man  who  should  have  the  courage  to  fill  his  pockets 
with  pebbles  would  not  fail  to  find  death,  and  never  be  seen 
thereafter. 

At  the  time  while  he  admired  the  lovely  miniature  of  a  land- 
scape, the  poet  had  thought  to  himself,  "  'Tis  a  spot  to  make 
your  mouth  water  for  a  drowning." 

He  thought  of  it  now  as  he  went  down  into  L'Houmeau; 
and  when  he  took  his  way  toward  Marsac,  with  the  last  sombre 
thoughts  gnawing  at  his  heart,  it  was  with  the  firm  resolve  to 
hide  his  death.  There  should  be  no  inquest  held  over  him  ; 
he  would  not  be  laid  in  earth ;  no  one  should  see  him  in  the 
hideous  condition  of  the  corpse  that  floats  on  the  surface  of 
the  water.  Before  long  he  reached  one  of  the  slopes,  common 
enough  on  all  French  high-roads,  and  commonest  of  all  be- 
tween AngoulSme  and  Poitiers.  He  saw  the  coach  from 
Bordeaux  to  Paris  coming  up  at  full  speed  behind  him,  and 
knew  that  the  passengers  would  probably  alight  to  walk  up  the 
hill.  He  did  not  care  to  be  seen  just  then.  Turning  off 
sharply  into  a  beaten  track  he  began  to  pick  the  flowers  in  a 
vineyard  hard-by. 


326  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

When  Lucien  came  back  to  the  road  with  a  great  bunch  of 
the  yellow  stone-crop  which  grows  everywhere  upon  the  stony 
soil  of  the  vineyards,  he  came  out  upon  a  traveler  dressed  in 
black  from  head  to  foot.  The  stranger  wore  powder,  there 
were  silver  buckles  on  his  shoes  of  Orleans  leather,  and  his 
brown  face  was  scarred  and  seamed  as  if  he  had  fallen  into  the 
fire  in  infancy.  The  traveler,  so  obviously  clerical  in  his 
dress,  was  walking  slowly  and  smoking  a  cigar.  He  turned 
as  Lucien  jumped  down  from  the  vineyard  into  the  road. 
The  deep  melancholy  on  the  handsome  young  face,  the  poet's 
symbolical  flowers,  and  his  elegant  dress  seemed  to  strike  the 
stranger.  He  looked  at  Lucien  with  something  of  the  expres- 
sion of  a  hunter  that  has  found  his  quarry  at  last  after  long 
and  fruitless  search.  He  allowed  Lucien  to  come  alongside, 
in  nautical  phrase ;  then  he  slackened  his  pace,  and  appeared 
to  look  along  the  road  up  the  hill ;  Lucien,  following  the 
direction  of  his  eyes,  saw  a  light  traveling  carriage  with  two 
horses,  and  a  post-boy  standing  beside  it. 

"  You  have  allowed  the  coach  to  pass  you,  monsieur  ;  you 
will  lose  your  place  unless  you  care  to  take  a  seat  in  my 
caleche  and  overtake  the  mail,  for  it  is  rather  quicker  travel- 
ing post  than  by  the  public  conveyance."  The  traveler  spoke 
with  extreme  politeness  and  a  very  marked  Spanish  accent. 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  drew  a  cigar-case  from 
his  pocket,  opened  it,  and  held  it  out  to  Lucien. 

"I  am  not  on  a  journey,"  said  Lucien,  "and  I  am  too 
near  the  end  of  my  stage  to  indulge  in  the  pleasure  of 
smoking " 

"You  are  very  severe  with  yourself,"  returned  the  Spaniard. 
"Though  I  am  a  canon  of  the  cathedral  of  Toledo,  I  oc- 
casionally smoke  a  cigarette.  God  gave  us  tobacco  to  allay 
our  passions  and  our  pains.  You  seem  to  be  downcast,  or,  at 
any  rate,  you  carry  the  symbolical  flower  of  sorrow  in  your 
hand,  like  the  rueful  god  Hymen.  Come  !  all  your  troubles 
will  vanish  away  with  the  smoke,"  and  again  the  ecclesiastic 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  327 

held  out  his  little  straw  case ;  there  was  something  fascinating 
in  his  manner,  and  kindliness  toward  Lucien  lighted  up  his 
eyes. 

"Forgive  me,  father,"  Lucien  answered  stiffly;  "there  is 
no  cigar  that  can  scatter  my  troubles."  Tears  came  to  his 
eyes  at  the  words. 

"  It  must  surely  be  Divine  Providence  that  prompted  me  to 
take  a  little  exercise  to  shake  off  a  traveler's  morning  drowsi- 
ness," said  the  churchman.  "A  Divine  prompting  to  fulfill 
my  mission  here  on  earth  by  consoling  you.  What  great 
trouble  can  you  have  at  your  age  ? ' ' 

"Your  consolations,  father,  can  do  nothing  for  me.  You 
are  a  Spaniard,  I  am  a  Frenchman  ;  you  believe  in  the  com- 
mandments of  the  church,  I  am  an  atheist." 

"Holy  Virgin  of  Pilar!  you  are  an  atheist !  "  cried  the 
other,  laying  a  hand  on  Lucien's  arm  with  maternal  solicitude. 
"Ah  !  here  is  one  of  the  curious  things  I  promised  myself  to 
see  in  Paris.  We,  in  Spain,  do  not  believe  in  atheists.  There 
is  no  country  but  France  where  one  can  have  such  opinions 
at  nineteen  years." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  an  atheist  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word.  I 
have  no  belief  in  God,  in  society,  in  happiness.  Take  a  good 
look  at  me,  father ;  for  in  a  few  hours'  time  life  will  be  over 
for  me.  My  last  sun  has  risen,"  said  the  wretched  Lucien, 
and  with  a  sort  of  rhetorical  effect  he  waved  his  hand  toward 
the  sky. 

"  How  so  ;  what  have  you  done  that  you  must  die?  Who 
has  condemned  you  to  die  ?  " 

"A  tribunal  from  which  there  is  no  appeal — I  myself." 

"You,  child!"  cried  the  priest.  "Have  you  killed  a 
man  ?  Is  the  scaffold  awaiting  you  ?  Let  us  reason  together 
a  little.  If  you  are  resolved,  as  you  say,  to  return  to  nothing- 
ness, everything  on  earth  is  indifferent  to  you,  is  it  not  ?" 

Lucien  bowed  assent. 

"  Very  well,  then  ;  can  you  not  tell  me  about  your  troubles? 


328  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Some  little  affair  or  other  of  the  heart  has  taken  a  bad  turn,  no 
doubt?" 

Lucien  shrugged  his  shoulders  very  significantly. 

"Are  you  resolved  to  kill  yourself  to  escape  dishonor,  or 
do  you  despair  of  life  ?  Very  good.  You  can  kill  yourself 
at  Poitiers  quite  as  easily  as  at  Angouleme,  and  at  Tours  it 
will  be  no  harder  than  at  Poitiers.  The  quicksands  of  the 
Loire  never  give  up  their  prey " 

"No,"  said  Lucien  ;  "I  have  settled  it  all.  Three  weeks 
ago  I  chanced  upon  the  most  charming  raft  that  can  ferry  a 
man  sick  and  tired  of  this  life  into  the  other  world " 

" The  other  world  ?    You  are  not  an  atheist." 

"  Oh !  by  another  world  I  mean  my  next  transformation, 
animal  or  plant." 

"  Have  you  some  incurable  disease  ?  " 

"Yes,  father." 

"  Ah  !  now  we  come  to  the  point.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Poverty." 

The  priest  looked  at  Lucien.  "  The  diamond  does  not 
know  its  own  value,"  he  said,  and  there  was  an  inexpressible 
charm  and  a  touch  of  something  like  irony  in  his  smile. 

"  None  but  a  priest  could  flatter  a  poor  man  about  to  die," 
exclaimed  Lucien. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  die,"  the  Spaniard  returned  author- 
itatively. 

"  I  have  heard  many  times  of  men  that  were  robbed  on  the 
high-road,  but  I  have  never  yet  heard  of  one  that  found  a 
fortune  there,"  said  Lucien. 

"You  will  hear  of  one  now,"  said  the  priest,  glancing 
toward  the  carriage  to  measure  the  time  still  left  for  their  walk 
together.  "Listen  to  me,"  he  continued,  with  his  cigar  between 
his  teeth  ;  "if  you  are  poor,  that  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
die.  I  need  a  secretary,  for  mine  has  just  died  at  Barcelona. 
I  am  in  the  same  position  as  the  famous  Baron  Goe'rtz,  minis- 
ter of  Charles  XII.  He  was  traveling  toward  Sweden  (just 


VE  V*? 

. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  329 

as  I  am  going  to  Paris),  and  in  some  little  town  or  other 
he  chanced  upon  the  son  of  a  goldsmith,  a  young  man  of  re- 
markably good  looks,  though  they  could  scarcely  equal  yours. 
Now  Baron  Goc'rtz  discerned  intelligence  in  the  young  man 
(just  as  I  see  poetry  on  your  brow);  he  took  him  into  his 
traveling  carriage,  as  I  shall  take  you  very  shortly ;  and  of  a 
boy  condemned  to  spend  his  days  in  burnishing  spoons  and 
forks  and  making  trinkets  in  some  little  town  like  Angouleme, 
he  made  a  favorite,  as  you  shall  be  mine. 

"  Arrived  at  Stockholm,  he  installed  his  secretary  and  over- 
whelmed him  with  work.  The  young  man  spent  his  nights  in 
writing,  and,  like  all  great  workers,  he  contracted  a  bad  habit, 
a  trick — he  took  to  chewing  paper.  The  late  Monsieur  de 
Malesherbes  used  to  rap  people  over  the  knuckles ;  and  he 
did  this  once,  by-the-by,  to  somebody  or  other  whose  suit 
depended  upon  him.  The  handsome  young  secretary  began 
by  chewing  blank  paper,  found  it  insipid  after  a  while,  and 
acquired  a  taste  for  manuscript  as  having  more  flavor.  Peo- 
ple did  not  smoke  as  yet  in  those  days.  At  last,  from 
flavor  to  flavor,  he  began  to  chew  parchment  and  swallow 
it.  Now,  at  that  time  a  treaty  was  being  negotiated  between 
Russia  and  Sweden.  The  States-General  insisted  that  Charles 
XII.  should  make  peace  (much  as  they  tried  in  France  to 
make  Napoleon  treat  for  peace  in  1814),  and  the  basis  of 
these  negotiations  was  the  treaty  between  the  two  powers 
with  regard  to  Finland.  Goertz  gave  the  original  into  his 
secretary's  keeping ;  but  when  the  time  came  for  laying  the 
draft  before  the  States-General,  a  trifling  difficulty  arose, 
the  treaty  was  not  to  be  found.  The  States-General  believed 
that  the  Minister,  pandering  to  the  King's  wishes,  had  taken 
it  into  his  head  to  get  rid  of  the  document.  Baron  Goertz 
was,  in  fact,  accused  of  this,  and  the  secretary  owned  that 
he  had  eaten  the  treaty.  He  was  tried  and  convicted  and 
condemned  to  death.  But  you  have  not  come  to  that  yet,  so 
take  a  cigar  and  smoke  till  we  reach  the  caleche." 


330  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Lucien  took  a  cigar  and  lit  it,  Spanish  fashion,  at  the 
priest's  cigar.  "He  is  right,"  he  thought;  "I  can  take  my 
life  at  any  time." 

"It  often  happens  that  a  young  man's  fortunes  take  a  turn 
when  despair  is  darkest,"  the  Spaniard  continued.  "That 
is  what  I  wished  to  tell  you,  but  I  preferred  to  prove  it 
by  a  case  in  point.  Here  was  the  handsome  young  secretary 
lying  under  sentence  of  death,  and  his  case  the  more  desperate 
because,  as  he  had  been  condemned  by  the  States-General, 
the  King  could  not  pardon  him,  but  he  connived  at  his 
escape.  The  secretary  stole  away  in  a  fishing-boat  with  a  few 
crowns  in  his  pocket,  and  reached  the  court  of  Courland  with 
a  letter  of  introduction  from  Goertz,  explaining  his  secretary's 
adventures  and  his  craze  for-  paper.  The  Duke  of  Courland 
was  a  spendthrift ;  he  had  a  steward  and  a  pretty  wife — 
three  several  causes  of  ruin.  He  placed  the  charming  young 
stranger  with  his  steward. 

"If  you  can  imagine  that  the  sometime  secretary  had 
been  cured  of  his  depraved  taste  by  a  sentence  of  death, 
you  do  not  know  the  grip  that  a  man's  failings  have  upon 
him ;  let  a  man  discover  some  satisfaction  for  himself,  and 
the  headsman  will  not  keep  him  from  it.  How  is  it  that  vice 
has  this  power?  Is  it  inherent  strength  in  the  vice  or  in- 
herent weakness  in  human  nature?  Are  there  certain  tastes 
that  should  be  regarded  as  verging  on  insanity  ?  For  myself, 
I  cannot  help  laughing  at  the  moralists  who  try  to  expel  such 
diseases  by  fine  phrases.  Well,  it  so  fell  out  that  the  steward 
refused  a  demand  for  money ;  and  the  Duke,  taking  fright  at 
this,  called  for  an  audit.  Sheer  imbecility  !  Nothing  easier 
than  to  make  out  a  balance-sheet ;  the  difficulty  never  lies 
there.  The  steward  gave  his  secretary  all  the  necessary  doc- 
uments for  compiling  a  schedule  of  the  civil  list  of  Courland. 
He  had  nearly  finished  it  when,  in  the  dead  of  night,  the 
unhappy  paper-eater  discovered  that  he  was  chewing  up  one 
of  the  Duke's  discharges  for  a  considerable  sum.  He  had 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  331 

eaten  half  the  signature  !  Horror  seized  upon  him ;  he  fled 
to  the  Duchess,  flung  himself  at  her  feet,  told  her  of  his 
craze,  and  implored  the  aid  of  his  sovereign  lady — implored 
her  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  The  handsome  young  face 
made  such  an  impression  on  the  Duchess  that  she  married 
him  as  soon  as  she  was  left  a  widow.  And  so  in  mid-eigh- 
teenth century,  in  a  land  where  the  king-at-arms  is  king,  the 
goldsmith's  son  became  a  prince  and  something  more.  On 
the  death  of  Catherine  I.  he  was  regent ;  he  ruled  the  Em- 
press Anne,  and  tried  to  be  the  Richelieu  of  Russia.  Very 
well,  young  man  ;  now  know  this — if  you  are  handsomer 
than  Biron,  I,  simple  canon  that  I  am,  am  worth  more  than 
a  Baron  Goertz.  So  get  in ;  we  will  find  a  duchy  of  Cour- 
land  for  you  in  Paris,  or,  failing  the  duchy,  we  shall  certainly 
find  the  duchess." 

The  Spanish  priest  laid  a  hand  on  Lucien's  arm  and  liter- 
ally forced  him  into  the  traveling  carriage.  The  postillion 
shut  the  door  upon  the  priest  and  Lucien  and  the  caleche 
started  on. 

"  Now  speak;  I  am  listening,"  said  the  canon  of  Toledo, 
to  Lucien's  bewilderment.  "  I  am  an  old  priest ;  you  can 
tell  me  everything,  there  is  nothing  to  fear.  So  far  we  have 
only  run  through  our  patrimony  or  squandered  mamma's 
money.  We  have  made  a  flitting  from  our  creditors,  and  we 
are  honor  personified  down  to  the  tips  of  our  elegant  little 
boots.  Come,  confess  boldly  ;  it  will  be  just  as  if  you  were 
talking  to  yourself." 

Lucien  felt  like  that  hero  of  an  Eastern  tale,  the  fisher  who 
tried  to  drown  himself  in  mid-ocean,  and  sank  down  to  find 
himself  a  king  of  countries  under  the  sea.  The  Spanish  priest 
seemed  so  really  affectionate  that  the  poet  hesitated  no  longer ; 
between  Angouleme  and  Ruffec  he  told  the  story  of  his  whole 
life,  omitting  none  of  his  misdeeds,  and  ended  with  the  final 
catastrophe  which  he  had  brought  about.  The  tale  only 
gained  in  poetic  charm  because  this  was  the  third  time  he  had 


332  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

told  it  in  the  past  fortnight.  Just  as  he  made  an  end  they 
passed  the  house  of  the  Rastignac  family. 

"Young  Rastignac  left  that  place  for  Paris,"  said  Lucien; 
"  he  is  certainly  not  my  equal,  but  he  has  had  better  luck." 

The  Spaniard  started  at  the  name.     "  Oh  !  "  he  said. 

"  Yes.  That  shy  little  place  belongs  to  his  father.  As  I 
was  telling  you  just  now,  he  was  the  lover  of  Madame  de 
Nucingen,  the  famous  banker's  wife.  I  drifted  into  poetry ; 
he  was  cleverer,  he  took  the  practical  side." 

The  priest  stopped  the  caleche ;  and  was  so  far  curious  as  to 
walk  down  the  little  avenue  that  led  to  the  house,  showing 
more  interest  in  the  place  than  Lucien  expected  from  a 
Spanish  ecclesiastic. 

"Then,  do  you  know  the  Rastignacs?"  asked  Lucien. 

"I  know  every  one  in  Paris,"  said  the  Spaniard,  taking  his 
place  again  in  the  carriage.  "  And  so,  for  want  of  ten  or 
twelve  thousand  francs,  you  were  about  to  take  your  life ;  you 
are  a  child,  you  know  neither  men  nor  things.  A  man's 
future  is  worth  the  value  that  he  chooses  to  set  upon  it,  and 
you  value  yours  at  twelve  thousand  francs  !  Well,  I  will  give 
more  than  that  for  you  any  time.  As  for  your  brother-in-law's 
imprisonment,  it  is  the  merest  trifle.  If  this  dear  Monsieur 
S£chard  has  made  a  discovery,  he  will  be  a  rich  man  some  day, 
and  a  rich  man  has  never  been  imprisoned  for  debt.  You  do 
not  seem  to  me  to  be  strong  in  history.  History  is  of  two 
kinds — there  is  the  official  history  taught  in  schools,  a  lying 
compilation  ad  usum  delphini ;  and  there  is  secret  history 
which  deals  with  the  real  causes  of  events — a  scandalous 
chronicle.  Let  me  tell  you  briefly  a  little  story  which  you 
have  not  heard.  There  was,  once  upon  a  time,  a  man 
young  and  ambitious,  and  a  priest  to  boot.  He  wanted  to 
enter  on  a  political  career,  so  he  fawned  on  the  queen's  favor- 
ite; the  favorite  took  an  interest  in  him,  gave  him  the  rank 
of  minister  and  a  seat  at  the  council  board.  One  evening 
somebody  wrote  to  the  young  aspirant,  thinking  to  do  him  a 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  333 

service  (never  do  a  service,  by-the-by,  unless  you  are  asked), 
and  told  him  that  his  benefactor's  life  was  in  danger.  The 
King's  wrath  was  kindled  against  his  rival;  to-morrow,  if  the 
favorite  went  to  the  palace,  he  would  certainly  be  stabbed ;  so 
said  the  letter.  Well,  now,  young  man,  what  would  you  have 
done?" 

"I  should  have  gone  at  once  to  warn  my  benefactor," 
Lucien  exclaimed  quickly. 

"You  are  indeed  the  child  which  your  story  reveals!" 
said  the  priest.  "  Our  man  said  to  himself,  '  If  the  King  is 
resolved  to  go  to  such  lengths,  it  is  all  over  with  my  bene- 
factor, I  must  receive  this  letter  too  late ; '  so  he  slept  on  until 
the  favorite  was  stabbed " 

"He  was  a  monster!"  said  Lucien,  suspecting  that  the 
priest  meant  to  sound  him. 

"  So  are  all  great  men  ;  this  one  was  the  Cardinal  de 
Richelieu,  and  his  benefactor  was  the  Marechal  d'Ancre. 
You  really  do  not  know  your  history  of  France,  you  see. 
Was  I  not  right  when  I  told  you  that  history  as  taught  in 
schools  is  simply  a  collection  of  facts  and  dates,  more  than 
doubtful  in  the  first  place,  and  with  no  bearing  whatever  on  the 
gist  of  the  matter.  You  are  told  that  such  a  person  as  Jeanne 
d'Arc  once  existed  ;  where  is  the  use  of  that  ?  Have  you  never 
drawn  your  own  conclusions  from  that  fact  ?  never  seen  that, 
if  France  had  accepted  the  Angevin  dynasty  of  the  Planta- 
genets,  the  two  people  thus  reunited  would  be  ruling  the  world 
to-day,  and  the  islands  that  now  brew  political  storms  for  the 
continent  would  be  French  provinces?  Why,  have  you  so 
much  as  studied  the  means  by  which  simple  merchants  like  the 
Medici  became  Grand-Dukes  of  Tuscany?" 

"  A  poet  in  France  is  not  bound  to  be  *  as  learned  as  a 
Benedictine,'  "  said  Lucien. 

"  Well,  they  became  Grand-Dukes  as  Richelieu  became  a 
minister.  If  you  had  looked  into  history  for  the  causes  of 
events,  instead  of  getting  the  headings  by  heart,  you  would 


334  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

have  found  precepts  for  your  guidance  in  this  life.  These 
real  facts  taken  at  random  from  among  so  many  supply  you 
with  the  axiom — '  Look  upon  men,  and  on  women  most  of 
all,  as  your  instruments ;  but  never  let  them  see  this.'  If  some 
one  higher  in  place  can  be  useful  to  you,  worship  him  as  a 
god ;  and  never  leave  him  until  he  has  paid  the  price  of  your 
servility  to  the  last  farthing.  In  your  intercourse  with  men, 
in  short,  be  grasping  and  mean  as  a  Jew ;  all  that  the  Jew 
does  for  money,  you  must  do  for  power.  And,  beside  all  this, 
when  a  man  has  fallen  from  power,  care  no  more  for  him  than 
if  he  had  cease  to  exist.  And  do  you  ask  why  you  must  do 
these  things?  You  mean  to  rule  the  world,  do  you  not? 
You  must  begin  by  obeying  and  studying  it.  Scholars  study 
books;  politicians  study  men  and  their  interests  and  the 
springs  of  action.  Society  and  mankind  in  masses  are  fatal- 
ists; they  bow  down  and  worship  the  accomplished  fact.  Do 
you  know  why  I  am  giving  you  this  little  history  lesson?  It 
seems  to  me  that  your  ambition  is  boundless " 

"Yes,  father." 

"  I  saw  that  myself,"  said  the  priest.  "  But  at  this  moment 
you  are  thinking :  '  Here  is  this  Spanish  canon  inventing 
anecdotes  and  straining  history  to  prove  to  me  that  I  have  too 
much  virtue '  " 

Lucien  began  to  smile;  his  thoughts  had  been  read  so 
clearly. 

"  Very  well,  let  us  take  facts  that  every  school-boy  knows. 
One  day  France  is  almost  entirely  overrun  by  the  English ; 
the  King  has  only  a  single  province  left.  Two  figures  arise 
from  among  the  people — a  poor  herd-girl,  that  very  Jeanne 
d'Arc  of  whom  we  were  speaking,  and  a  burgher  named  Jacques 
Cceur.  The  girl  brings  the  power  of  virginity,  the  strength 
of  her  arm ;  the  burgher  gives  his  gold,  and  the  kingdom  is 
saved.  The  maid  is  taken  prisoner,  and  the  King,  who  could 
have  ransomed  her,  leaves  her  to  be  burned  alive.  The  King 
allows  his  courtier  to  accuse  the  great  burgher  of  capital  crime, 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  335 

and  they  rob  him  and  divide  all  his  wealth  among  themselves. 
The  spoils  of  an  innocent  man,  hunted  down,  brought  to  bay, 
and  driven  into  exile  by  the  Law,  went  to  enrich  five  noble 
houses ;  and  the  father  of  the  Archbishop  of  Bourges  left  the 
kingdom  for  ever  without  one  sou  of  all  his  possessions  in 
France,  and  no  resource  but  moneys  remitted  to  Arabs  and 
Saracens  in  Egypt.  It  is  open  to  you  to  say  that  these  ex- 
amples are  out  of  date,  that  three  centuries  of  public  education 
have  since  elapsed,  and  that  the  outlines  of  those  ages  are  more 
or  less  dim  figures.  Well,  young  man,  do  you  believe  in  the 
last  demi-god  of  France,  in  Napoleon?  One  of  his  generals 
was  in  disgrace  all  through  his  career ;  Napoleon  made  him  a 
marshal  grudgingly,  and  never  sent  him  on  service  if  he  could 
help  it.  That  marshal  was  Kellermann.  Do  you  know  the 

reason  of  the  grudge  ? Kellermann  saved   France  and 

the  First  Consul  at  Marengo  by  a  brilliant  charge ;  the  ranks 
applauded  under  fire  and  in  the  thick  of  the  carnage.  That 
heroic  charge  was  not  even  mentioned  in  the  bulletin. 
Napoleon's  coolness  toward  Kellermann,  Fouche's  fall,  and 
Talleyrand's  disgrace  were  all  attributable  to  the  same  cause  ; 
it  is  the  ingratitude  of  a  Charles  VII.  or  a  Richelieu,  or " 

"  But,  father,"  said  Lucien,  "suppose  that  you  should  save 
my  life  and  make  my  fortune,  you  are  making  the  ties  ol 
gratitude  somewhat  slight." 

"Little  rogue,"  said  the  abb6,  smiling  as  he  pinched  Lu- 
cien's  ear  with  an  almost  royal  familiarity.  "  If  you  are  un- 
grateful to  me,  it  will  be  because  you  are  a  strong  man  and  I 
shall  bend  before  you.  But  you  are  not  that  just  yet ;  as  a 
simple  'prentice  you  have  tried  to  be  master  too  soon,  the 
common  fault  of  Frenchmen  of  your  generation.  Napoleon's 
example  has  spoiled  them  all.  You  send  in  your  resignation 
because  you  have  not  the  pair  of  epaulettes  that  you  fancied. 
But  have  you  attempted  to  bring  the  full  force  of  your  will 
and  every  action  of  your  life  to  bear  upon  your  one  idea?" 

"Alas!  no." 


336  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"You  have  been  inconsistent,  as  the  English  say,"  smiled 
the  canon. 

"What  I  have  been  matters  nothing  now,"  said  Lucien, 
"  if  I  can  be  nothing  in  future." 

"  If  at  the  back  of  all  your  good  qualities  there  is  power 
semper  virens"  continued  the  priest,  not  averse  to  show  that 
he  had  a  little  Latin,  "  nothing  in  this  world  can  resist  you. 
I  have  taken  enough  of  a  liking  for  you  already " 

Lucien  smiled  incredulously. 

"Yes,"  said  the  priest,  in  answer  to  the  smile,  "you  in- 
terest me  as  much  as  if  you  had  been  my  son ;  and  I  am 
strong  enough  to  afford  to  talk  to  you  as  openly  as  you  have 
just  done  to  me.  Do  you  know  what  it  is  that  I  like  about 
you?  This:  you  have  made  a  sort  of  blank  tablet  within 
yourself,  and  are  ready  to  hear  a  sermon  on  morality  that 
you  will  hear  nowhere  else ;  for  mankind  in  the  mass  are 
even  more  consummate  hypocrites  than  any  one  individual 
can  be  when  his  interests  demand  a  piece  of  acting.  Most  of 
us  spend  a  good  part  of  our  lives  in  clearing  our  minds  of  the 
notions  that  sprang  up  unchecked  during  our  nonage.  This 
is  called  '  getting  our  experience.' ' 

Lucien,  listening,  thought  within  himself,  "  Here  is  some 
old  intriguer  delighted  with  a  chance  of  amusing  himself  on 
a  journey.  He  is  pleased  with  the  idea  of  bringing  about  a 
change  of  opinion  in  a  poor  wretch  on  the  brink  of  suicide ; 
and  when  he  is  tired  of  his  amusement  he  will  drop  me.  Still 
he  understands  paradox,  and  seems  to  be  quite  a  match  for 
Blondet  or  Lousteau." 

But,  in  spite  of  these  sage  reflections,  the  diplomatist's  poison 
had  sunk  deeply  into  Lucien's  soul ;  the  ground  was  ready  to 
receive  it,  and  the  havoc  wrought  was  the  greater  because 
such  famous  examples  were  cited.  Lucien  fell  under  the 
charm  of  his  companion's  cynical  talk,  and  clung  the  more 
willingly  to  life  because  he  felt  that  this  arm  which  drew  him 
up  from  the  depths  was  a  strong  one. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  337 

In  this  respect  the  ecclesiastic  had  evidently  won  the  day ; 
and,  indeed,  from  time  to  time  a  malicious  smile  bore  his 
cynical  anecdotes  company. 

"  If  your  system  of  morality  at  all  resembles  your  manner 
of  regarding  history,"  said  Lucien,  "  I  should  dearly  like  to 
know  the  motive  of  your  present  act  of  charity,  for  such  it 
seems  to  be." 

"There,  young  man,  I  have  come  to  the  last  head  of  my 
sermon ;  you  will  permit  me  to  reserve  it,  for  in  that  case  we 
shall  not  part  company  to-day,"  said  the  canon,  with  the  tact 
of  the  priest  who  sees  that  his  guile  has  succeeded. 

"Very  well,  talk  morality,"  said  Lucien.  To  himself  he 
said,  "  I  will  draw  him  out." 

"  Morality  begins  with  the  law,"  said  the  priest.  "  If  it 
were  simply  a  question  of  religion,  laws  would  be  superfluous; 
religious  people  have  few  laws.  The  laws  of  statecraft  are 
above  civil  law.  Well,  do  you  care  to  know  the  inscription 
which  a  politician  can  read,  written  at  large  over  your  nine- 
teenth century?  In  1793  the  French  invented  the  idea  of  the 
sovereignty  of  the  people — and  the  sovereignty  of  the  people 
came  to  an  end  under  an  absolute  ruler  in  the  Emperor.  So 
much  for  your  history  as  a  nation.  Now  for  your  private 
manners.  Madame  Tallien  and  Madame  Beauharnais  both 
acted  alike.  Napoleon  married  the  one  and  made  her  your 
Empress  ;  the  other  he  would  never  receive  at  court,  princess 
though  she  was.  The  sans-culotte*  of  1793  takes  the  Iron 
Crown  in  1804.  The  fanatical  lovers  of  Equality  or  Death 
conspire  fourteen  years  afterward  with  a  Legitimist  aristocracy 
to  bring  back  Louis  XVIII.  And  that  same  aristocracy,  lord- 
ing it  to-day  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  has  done  worse — 
has  been  merchant,  usurer,  pastry-cook,  farmer,  and  shepherd. 
So  in  France  systems  political  and  moral  have  started  from 
one  point  and  reached  another  diametrically  opposed ;  and 
men  have  professed  one  kind  of  opinion  and  acted  on  another. 

*  Lit.:  Without  breeches  ;  a  term  for  the  patriots. 
22 


338  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

There  has  been  no  consistency  in  national  policy  nor  in  the 
conduct  of  individuals.  You  cannot  be  said  to  have  any 
morality  left.  Success  is  the  supreme  justification  of  all  ac- 
tions whatsoever.  The  fact  in  itself  is  nothing;  the  impression 
that  it  makes  upon  others  is  everything.  Hence,  please  observe 
a  second  precept :  Present  a  fair  exterior  to  the  world,  keep 
the  seamy  side  of  life  to  yourself  and  turn  a  resplendent  coun- 
tenance upon  others.  Discretion,  the  motto  of  every  ambi- 
tious man,  is  the  watchword  of  our  Order ;  take  it  for  your 
own.  Great  men  are  guilty  of  almost  as  many  base  deeds  as 
poor  outcasts;  but  they  are  careful  to  do  these  things  in 
shadow  and  to  parade  their  virtues  in  the  light,  or  they  would 
not  be  great  men.  Your  insignificant  man  leaves  his  virtues 
in  the  shade;  he  publicly  displays  his  pitiable  side,  and 
is  despised  accordingly.  You,  for  instance,  have  hidden 
your  titles  to  greatness  and  made  a  display  of  your  worst  fail- 
ings. You  openly  took  an  actress  for  your  mistress,  lived  with 
her  and  upon  her  ;  you  were  by  no  means  to  blame  for  this ; 
everybody  admitted  that  both  of  you  were  perfectly  free  to  do 
as  you  liked ;  but  you  ran  full  tilt  against  the  ideas  of  the 
world,  and  the  world  has  not  shown  you  the  consideration 
that  is  shown  to  those  who  obey  the  rules  of  the  game.  If  you 
had  left  Coralie  to  this  Monsieur  Camusot,  if  you  had  hidden 
your  relations  with  her,  you  might  have  married  Madame  de 
Bargeton .;  you  would  now  be  Prefect  of  AngoulSme  and  Mar- 
quis de  Rubempr£. 

"  Change  your  tactics,  bring  your  good  looks,  your  charm, 
your  wit,  your  poetry  to  the  front.  If  you  indulge  in  small 
discreditable  courses,  let  it  be  within  four  walls,  and  you  will 
never  again  be  guilty  of  a  blot  on  the  decorations  of  this  great 
theatrical  scene  called  society.  Napoleon  called  this  'washing 
dirty  linen  at  home.'  The  corollary  follows  naturally  on  this 
second  precept — Form  is  everything.  Be  careful  to  grasp  the 
meaning  of  that  word  'form.'  There  are  people  who,  for 
want  of  knowing  better,  will  help  themselves  to  money  under 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  339 

pressure  of  want  and  take  it  by  force.  These  people  are 
called  criminals,  and,  perforce,  they  square  accounts  with 
Justice.  A  poor  man  of  genius  discovers  some  secret,  some 
invention  as  good  as  a  treasure ;  you  lend  him  three  thousand 
francs  (for  that,  practically  the  Cointets  have  done ;  they  hold 
your  bills,  and  they  are  about  to  rob  your  brother-in-law) ; 
you  torment  him  until  he  reveals,  or  partly  reveals,  his  secret; 
you  settle  your  accounts  with  your  own  conscience,  and  your 
conscience  does  not  drag  you  into  the  assize  court. 

"The  enemies  of  social  order,  beholding  this  contrast,  take 
occasion  to  yap  at  justice,  and  wax  wroth  in  the  name  of  the 
people,  because,  forsooth,  burglars  and  fowl-stealers  are  sent  to 
the  hulks,  while  a  man  who  brings  whole  families  to  ruin  by 
a  fraudulent  bankruptcy  is  let  off  with  a  few  months'  imprison- 
ment. But  these  hypocrites  know  quite  well  that  the  judge 
who  passes  sentence  on  the  thief  is  maintaining  the  barrier  set 
between  the  poor  and  the  rich,  and  that,  if  that  barrier  were 
overturned,  social  chaos  would  ensue;  while,  in  the  case  of 
the  bankrupt,  the  man  who  steals  an  inheritance  cleverly,  and 
the  banker  who  slaughters  a  business  for  his  own  benefit, 
money  merely  changes  hands,  that  is  all. 

"Society,  my  son,  is  bound  to  draw  those  distinctions 
which  I  have  pointed  out  for  your  benefit.  The  one  great 
point  is  this — you  must  be  a  match  for  society.  Napoleon, 
Richelieu,  and  the  Medicis  were  a  match  for  their  generations. 
And  as  for  you,  you  value  yourself  at  twelve  thousand  francs ! 
You  of  this  generation  in  France  worship  the  golden  calf; 
what  else  is  the  religion  of  your  charter  that  will  not  recognize 
a  man  politically  unless  he  owns  property  ?  What  is  this  but 
the  command,  'Strive  to  be  rich?'  Some  day,  when  you 
shall  have  made  a  fortune  without  breaking  the  law,  you  will 
be  rich ;  you  will  be  the  Marquis  de  Rubempr£,  and  can  in- 
dulge in  the  luxury  of  honor.  You  will  be  so  extremely  sen- 
sitive on  the  point  of  honor  that  no  one  will  dare  to  accuse 
you  of  past  shortcomings  if  in  the  process  of  making  your  way 


340  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

you  should  happen  to  smirch  it  now  and  again,  which  I  myself 
should  never  advise,"  he  added,  patting  Lucien's  hand. 

"So  what  must  you  put  in  that  comely  head  of  yours? 
Simply  this  and  nothing  more — propose  to  yourself  a  brilliant 
and  conspicuous  goal,  and  go  toward  it  secretly ;  let  no  one 
see  your  methods  or  your  progress.  You  have  behaved  like  a 
child  ;  be  a  man,  be  a  hunter,  lie  in  wait  for  your  quarry  in 
the  world  of  Paris,  wait  for  your  chance  and  your  game;  you 
need  not  be  particular  nor  mindful  of  your  dignity,  as  it  is 
called ;  we  are  all  of  us  slaves  to  something,  to  some  failing  of 
our  own  or  to  necessity ;  but  keep  that  law  of  laws — secrecy." 

"Father,  you  frighten  me,"  said  Lucienj  "this  seems  to 
me  to  be  a  highwayman's  theory." 

"And  you  are  right,"  said  the  canon,  "  but  it  is  no  inven- 
tion of  mine.  All  parvenus  reason  in  this  way — the  house  of 
Austria  and  the  house  of  France  alike.  You  have  nothing, 
you  say  ?  The  Medicis,  Richelieu,  and  Napoleon  started 
from  precisely  your  standpoint ;  but  they,  my  child,  consid- 
ered that  their  prospects  were  worth  ingratitude,  treachery, 
and  the  most  glaring  inconsistencies.  You  must  dare  all 
things  to  gain  all  things.  Let  us  discuss  it.  Suppose  that 
you  sit  down  to  a  game  of  cards,  do  you  begin  to  argue  over 
the  rules  of  the  game?  There  they  are,  you  accept  them." 

"Come  now,"  thought  Lucien,  "he  can  play  cards." 

"And  what  do  you  do?"  continued  the  priest;  "do  you 
practice  openness,  that  fairest  of  virtues?  Not  merely  do  you 
hide  your  tactics,  but  you  do  your  best  to  make  others  believe 
that  you  are  on  the  brink  of  ruin  as  soon  as  you  are  sure  of 
winning  the  game.  In  short,  you  dissemble,  do  you  not  ? 
You  lie  to  win  four  or  five  louis  d'or.  What  would  you  think 
of  a  player  so  generous  as  to  proclaim  that  he  held  a  hand 
full  of  trumps  ?  Very  well ;  the  ambitious  man  who  carries 
virtue's  precepts  into  the  arena  when  his  antagonists  have  left 
them  behind  is  behaving  like  a  child.  Old  men  of  the  world 
might  say  to  him,  as  a  card-player  would  say  to  the  man  who 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  341 

declines  to  take  advantage  of  his  trumps,  '  Monsieur,  you 
ought  not  to  play  at  cards.' 

"  Did  you  make  the  rules  of  the  game  of  ambition?  Why 
did  I  tell  you  to  be  a  match  for  society?  Because,  in  these 
days,  society  by  degrees  has  usurped  so  many  rights  over  the 
individual  that  the  individual  is  compelled  to  act  in  self- 
defense.  There  is  no  question  of  laws  now,  their  place  has  been 
taken  by  custom,  which  is  to  say  grimacings,  and  forms  must 
always  be  observed." 

Lucien  started  with  surprise. 

"Ah,  my  child!"  said  the  priest,  afraid  that  he  had 
shocked  Lucien's  innocence;  "did  you  expect  to  find  the 
Angel  Gabriel  in  an  abbe  loaded  with  all  the  iniquities  of  the 
diplomacy  and  counter-diplomacy  of  two  kings?  I  am  an 
agent  between  Ferdinand  VII.  and  Louis  XVIII.,  two — kings 
who  owe  their  crowns  to  profound — er — combinations,  let  us 
say.  I  believe  in  God,  but  I  have  a  still  greater  belief  in  our 
Order,  and  our  Order  has  no  belief  save  in  temporal  power. 
In  order  to  strengthen  and  consolidate  the  temporal  power, 
our  Order  upholds  the  Catholic  Apostolic  and  Roman  Church, 
which  is  to  say,  the  doctrines  which  dispose  the  world  at  large 
to  obedience.  We  are  the  Templars  of  modern  times  ;  we 
have  a  doctrine  of  our  own.  Like  the  Templars,  we  have 
been  dispersed,  and  for  the  same  reasons ;  we  were  almost  a 
match  for  the  world.  If  you  will  enlist  as  a  soldier,  I  will  be 
your  captain.  Obey  me  as  a  wife  obeys  her  husband,  as  a 
child  obeys  his  mother,  and  I  will  guarantee  that  you  shall  be 
Marquis  de  Rubempre  in  less  than  six  months ;  you  shall 
marry  into  one  of  the  proudest  houses  in  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain,  and  some  day  you  shall  sit  on  a  bench  with  peers 
of  France.  What  would  you  have  been  at  this  moment  if  I 
had  not  amused  you  by  my  conversation?  An  undiscovered 
corpse  in  a  deep  bed  of  mud.  Well  and  good,  now  for  an 
effort  of  imagination " 

Lucien  looked  curiously  at  his  protector. 


342  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"  Here,  in  this  caleche  beside  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera, 
canon  of  Toledo,  secret  envoy  from  his  majesty  Ferdinand 
VII.  to  his  majesty  the  King  of  France,  bearer  of  a  dispatch 
thus  worded  it  may  be — '  When  you  have  delivered  me,  hang 
all  those  whom  I  favor  at  this  moment,  more  especially  the 
bearer  of  this  dispatch,  for  then  he  can  tell  no  tales ' — well, 
beside  this  envoy  sits  a  young  man  who  has  nothing  in  com- 
mon with  that  poet  recently  deceased.  I  have  fished  you  out 
of  the  water,  I  have  brought  you  to  life  again,  you  belong 
to  me  as  the  creation  belongs  to  the  Creator,  as  the  sprites  of 
fairy-tales  belong  to  the  genii,  as  the  janissary  to  the  Sultan, 
as  the  soul  to  the  body.  I  will  sustain  you  in  the  way  to 
power  with  a  strong  hand  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  I  promise 
that  your  life  shall  be  a  continual  course  of  pleasure,  honors, 
and  enjoyment.  You  shall  never  want  for  money.  You  shall 
shine,  you  shall  go  bravely  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  ;  while  I, 
crouching  in  the  mud,  will  lay  a  firm  foundation  for  the  bril- 
liant edifice  of  your  fortunes.  For  I  love  power  for  its  own 
sake.  I  shall  always  rejoice  in  your  enjoyment,  forbidden  to 
me.  In  short,  my  self  shall  become  yourself!  Well,  if  a 
day  should  come  when  this  pact  between  man  and  the  tempter, 
this  agreement  between  the  child  and  the  diplomatist,  should 
no  longer  suit  your  ideas,  you  can  still  look  about  for  some 
quiet  spot,  like  that  pool  of  which  you  were  speaking,  and 
drown  yourself;  you  will  only  be  as  you  are  now,  or  a  little 
more  or  a  little  less  wretched  and  dishonored." 

"This  is  not  like  the  Archbishop  of  Granada's  homily," 
said  the  astounded  Lucien  to  the  wily  abbe,  as  they  stopped  to 
change  horses. 

"  Call  this  concentrated  education  by  what  name  you  will, 
my  son,  for  you  are  my  son,  I  adopt  you  henceforth  and  shall 
make  you  my  heir;  it  is  the  Code  of  ambition.  God's  elect 
are  few  and  far  between.  There  is  no  choice,  you  must  bury 
yourself  in  the  cloister  (and  there  you  very  often  find  the 
world  again  in  miniature)  or  accept  the  Code." 


LOST  ILLUSIONS,  343 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  not  to  be  so  wise,"  said  Lucien, 
trying  to  fathom  this  terrible  priest. 

"  What !  "  rejoined  the  canon.  "  You  begin  to  play  before 
you  know  the  rules  of  the  game,  and  now  you  throw  it  up  just 
as  your  chances  are  best  and  you  have  a  substantial  godfather 
to  back  you  !  And  you  do  not  even  care  to  play  a  return 
match  ?  You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  have  no  mind  to 
be  even  with  those  who  drove  you  from  Paris?" 

Lucien  quivered ;  the  sounds  that  rang  through  every  nerve 
seemed  to  come  from  some  bronze  instrument,  some  Chinese 
gong. 

"I  am  only  a  poor  priest,"  returned  his  mentor,  and  a  grim 
expression,  dreadful  to  behold,  appeared  for  a  moment  on  a 
face  burned  to  a  copper-red  by  the  sun  of  Spain,  "  I  am  only  a 
poor  priest ;  but  if  I  had  been  humiliated,  vexed,  tormented, 
betrayed,  and  sold  as  you  have  been  by  the  scoundrels  of  whom 
you  have  told  me,  I  should  do  like  an  Arab  of  the  desert — I 
would  devote  myself,  body  and  soul,  to  vengeance.  I  might 
end  by  dangling  from  a  gibbet,  garrotted,  impaled,  guillotined 
in  your  French  fashion,  I  should  not  care  a  rap;  but  they 
should  not  have  my  head  until  I  had  crushed  my  enemies 
under  my  heel." 

Lucien  was  silent ;  he  had  no  wish  to  draw  the  priest  out 
any  further. 

"  Some  are  descended  from  Cain  and  some  from  Abel,"  the 
canon  concluded;  "I  myself  am  of  mixed  blood — Cain  for 
my  enemies,  Abel  for  my  friends.  Woe  to  him  that  shall 
awaken  Cain !  After  all,  you  are  a  Frenchman ;  I  am  a 
Spaniard,  and,  what  is  more,  a  canon." 

"  What  a  Tartar  !  "  thought  Lucien,  scanning  the  protector 
thus  sent  to  him  by  heaven. 

There  was  no  sign  of  the  Jesuit,  nor  even  of  the  ecclesiastic, 
about  the  Abbe  Carlos  Herrera.  His  hands  were  large,  he  was 
thick-set  and  broad-chested,  evidently  he  possessed  the  strength 
of  a  Hercules;  his  terrific  expression  was  softened  by  benignity 


344  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

assumed  at  will ;  but  a  complexion  of  impenetrable  bronze 
inspired  feelings  of  repulsion  rather  than  attachment  for  the 
man. 

The  strange  diplomatist  looked  somewhat  like  a  bishop,  for 
he  wore  powder  on  his  long,  thick  hair,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Prince  de  Talleyrand  ;  a  gold  cross,  hanging  from  a  strip  of 
blue  ribbon  with  a  white  border,  indicated  an  ecclesiastical 
dignitary.  The  outlines  beneath  the  black  silk  stockings 
would  not  have  disgraced  an  athlete.  The  exquisite  neatness 
of  his  clothes  and  person  revealed  an  amount  of  care  which  a 
simple  priest,  and,  above  all,  a  Spanish  priest,  does  not  always 
take  with  his  appearance.  A  three-cornered  hat  lay  on  the 
front  seat  of  the  carriage,  which  bore  the  arms  of  Spain. 

In  spite  of  the  sense  of  repulsion,  the  effect  made  by  the 
man's  appearance  was  weakened  by  his  manner,  fierce  and  yet 
winning  as  it  was ;  he  evidently  laid  himself  out  to  please 
Lucien,  and  the  winning  manner  became  almost  coaxing. 
Yet  Lucien  noticed  the  smallest  trifles  uneasily.  He  felt  that 
the  moment  of  decision  had  come ;  they  had  reached  the 
second  stage  beyond  Ruffec,  and  the  decision  meant  life  or 
death. 

The  Spaniard's  last  words  vibrated  through  many  chords  in 
his  heart,  and,  to  the  shame  of  both,  it  must  be  said  that  all 
that  was  worst  in  Lucien  responded  to  an  appeal  deliberately 
made  to  his  evil  impulses,  and  the  eyes  that  studied  the  poet's 
beautiful  face  had  read  him  very  clearly.  Lucien  beheld  Paris 
once  more  j  in  imagination  he  caught  again  at  the  reins  of 
power  let  fall  from  his  unskilled  hands,  and  he  avenged  him- 
self! The  comparisons  which  he  himself  had  drawn  so  lately 
between  the  life  of  Paris  and  life  in  the  provinces  faded  from 
his  mind  with  the  more  painful  motives  for  suicide ;  he  was 
about  to  return  to  his  natural  sphere,  and  this  time  with  a  pro- 
tector, a  political  intriguer,  unscrupulous  as  Cromwell. 

(t  I  was  alone,  now  there  will  be  two  of  us,"  he  told  him- 
self. And  then  this  priest  had  been  more  and  more  interested 


LOS '7'  ILLUSIONS.  345 

as  he  told  of  his  sins  one  after  another.  The  man's  charity 
had  grown  with  the  extent  of  his  misdoings ;  nothing  had 
astonished  this  confessor.  And  yet,  what  could  be  the  motive 
of  a  mover  in  the  intrigues  of  kings  ?  Lucien  at  first  was 
fain  to  be  content  with  the  banal  answer — the  Spanish  are  a 
generous  race.  The  Spaniard  is  generous  !  even  so  the  Italian 
is  jealous  and  a  poisoner,  the  Frenchman  fickle,  the  German 
frank,  the  Jew  ignoble,  and  the  Englishman  noble.  Reverse 
these  verdicts  and  you  shall  arrive  within  a  reasonable  distance 
of  the  truth  !  The  Jews  have  monopolized  the  gold  of  the 
world;  they  compose  "Robert  the  Devil,"  act  "  Phedre," 
sing  "William  Tell,"  give  commissions  for  pictures  and  build 
palaces,  write  "  Reisebilder  "  and  wonderful  verse;  they  are 
more  powerful  than  ever,  their  religion  is  accepted,  they  have 
lent  money  to  the  holy  father  himself!  As  for  Germany,  a 
foreigner  is  often  asked  whether  he  has  a  contract  in  writing, 
and  this  in  the  smallest  matters,  so  tricky  are  they  in  their 
dealings.  In  France  the  spectacle  of  national  blunders  has 
never  lacked  national  applause  for  the  past  fifty  years ;  we 
continue  to  wear  hats  which  no  mortal  can  explain,  and  every 
change  of  government  is  made  on  the  express  condition  that 
things  shall  remain  exactly  as  they  were  before.  England 
flaunts  her  perfidy  in  the  face  of  the  world  and  her  abomina- 
ble treachery  is  only  equaled  by  her  greed.  All  the  gold  of 
two  Indies  passed  through  the  hands  of  Spain,  and  now  she 
has  nothing  left.  There  is  no  country  in  the  world  where 
poison  is  so  little  in  request  as  in  Italy,  no  country  where 
manners  are  easier  or  more  gentle.  As  for  the  Spaniard  he 
has  traded  largely  on  the  reputation  of  the  Moor  as  he  was  in 
Spain. 

As  the  canon  of  Toledo  returned  to  the  caleche,  he  had 
spoken  a  word  to  the  post-boy.  "  Drive  post-haste,"  he 
said,  "  and  there  will  be  three  francs  for  drink-money  for 
you."  Then,  seeing  that  Lucien  hesitated,  "  Come  !  come  !" 
he  exclaimed,  and  Lucien  took  his  place  again,  telling  him- 


346  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

self  that  he  meant  to  try  the  effect  of  the  argumentum  ad 
hominem. 

"  Father,"  he  began,  "after  pouring  out,  with  all  the  cool- 
ness in  the  world,  a  series  of  maxims  which  the  vulgar  would 
consider  profoundly  immoral " 

"And  so  they  are,"  said  the  priest;  "that  is  why  Jesus 
Christ  said  that  it  must  needs  be  that  offenses  come,  my 
son;  and  that  is  why  the  world  displays  such  horror  of 
offenses." 

"  A  man  of  your  stamp  will  not  be  surprised  by  the  ques- 
tion which  I  am  about  to  ask?" 

"Indeed,  my  son,  you  do  not  know  me,"  said  Carlos  Her- 
rera.  "  Do  you  suppose  that  I  should  engage  a  secretary 
unless  I  knew  that  I  could  depend  upon  his  principles  suffi- 
ciently to  be  sure  that  he  would  not  rob  me  ?  I  like  you. 
You  are  as  innocent  in  every  way  as  a  twenty-year-old  sui- 
cide. Your  question  ? ' ' 

"  Why  do  you  take  an  interest  in  me  ?  What  price  do  you 
set  on  my  obedience?  Why  should  you  give  me  every- 
thing ?  What  is  your  share  ? ' ' 

The  Spaniard  looked  at  Lucien,  and  a  smile  came  over 
his  face. 

"  Let  us  wait  till  we  come  to  the  next  hill ;  we  can  walk 
up  and  talk  out  in  the  open.  The  back  seat  of  a  traveling 
carriage  is  not  the  place  for  confidences." 

They  traveled  in  silence  for  some  time ;  the  rapidity  of 
the  movement  seemed  to  increase  Lucien's  moral  intoxi- 
cation. 

"  Here  is  a  hill,  father,"  he  said  at  last,  awakening  from  a 
kind  of  dream. 

"Very  well,  we  will  walk."  The  abbe  called  to  the  pos- 
tillion to  stop,  and  the  two  sprang  out  upon  the  road. 

"  You,  child,"  said  the  Spaniard,  taking  Lucien  by  the  arm, 
"  have  you  ever  thought  over  Otway's  '  Venice  Preserved  ? ' 
Did  you  understand  the  profound  friendship  between  man  and 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  347 

man  which  binds  Pierre  and  Jaffier  each  to  each  so  closely  that 
a  woman  is  as  nothing  in  comparison,  and  all  social  conditions 
are  changed?  Well,  so  much  for  the  poet." 

"  So  the  canon  knows  something  of  the  drama,"  thought 
Lucien.  "  Have  you  read  Voltaire?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  have  done  better,"  said  the  other;  "  I  put  his  doctrine 
into  practice." 

"You  do  not  believe  in  a  God?" 

"  Come  !  it  is  I  who  am  the  atheist,  is  it  ?  "  the  abbe  said, 
smiling.  "  Let  us  come  to  practical  matters,  my  child,"  he 
added,  putting  an  arm  around  Lucien's  waist.  "  I  am  forty- 
six  years  old,  I  am  the  natural  son  of  a  great  lord ;  conse- 
quently, I  have  no  family,  and  I  have  a  heart.  But,  learn 
this,  carve  it  on  that  still  so  soft  brain  of  yours — man  dreads 
to  be  alone.  And  of  all  kinds  of  isolation,  inward  isolation 
is  the  most  appalling.  The  early  anchorite  lived  with  God ; 
he  dwelt  in  the  spirit  world,  the  most  populous  world  of  all. 
The  miser  lives  in  a  world  of  imagination  and  fruition  ;  his 
whole  life  and  all  that  he  is,  even  his  sex,  lies  in  the  brain. 
A  man's  first  thought,  be  he  leper  or  convict,  hopelessly 
sick  or  degraded,  is  to  find  another  with  a  like  fate  to  share 
it  with  him.  He  will  exert  the  utmost  that  is  in  him,  every 
power,  all  his  vital  energy,  to  satisfy  that  craving;  it  is  his 
very  life.  But  for  that  tyrannous  longing,  would  Satan  have 
found  companions?  There  is  a  whole  poem  yet  to  be  written, 
a  first  part  of  '  Paradise  Lost ; '  Milton's  poem  is  only  the 
apology  for  the  revolt." 

"  It  would  be  the  Iliad  of  Corruption,"  said  Lucien. 

"  Well,  I  am  alone,  I  live  alone.  If  I  wear  the  priest's 
habit,  I  have  not  a  priest's  heart.  I  like  to  devote  myself  to 
some  one ;  that  is  my  weakness.  That  is  my  life,  that  is  how 
I  came  to  be  a  priest.  I  am  not  afraid  of  ingratitude,  and  I 
am  grateful.  The  church  is  nothing  to  me;  it  is  an  idea.  I 
am  devoted  to  the  King  of  Spain,  but  you  cannot  give 
affection  to  a  King  of  Spain ;  he  is  my  protector,  he  towers 


343  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

above  me.  I  want  to  love  my  creature,  to  mould  him, 
fashion  him  to  my  use,  and  love  him  as  a  father  loves  his 
child.  I  shall  drive  in  your  tilbury,  my  boy,  enjoy  your  suc- 
cess with  women,  and  say  to  myself,  '  This  fine  young  fellow, 
this  Marquis  de  Rubempre,  my  creation  whom  I  have  brought 
into  this  great  world,  is  my  very  self;  his  greatness  is  my 
doing,  he  speaks  or  is  silent  with  my  voice,  he  consults  me 
in  everything.'  The  Abbe  de  Vermont  felt  thus  for  Marie- 
Antoinette." 

"  He  led  her  to  the  scaffold." 

"He  did  not  love  the  Queen,"  said  the  priest ;  " he  only 
loved  the  Abbe  de  Vermont." 

"Must  I  leave  desolation  behind  me?" 

"  I  have  money,  you  shall  draw  on  me." 

"  I  would  do  a  great  deal  just  now  to  rescue  David  Sechard," 
said  Lucien,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  has  given  up  all  idea  of 
suicide. 

"  Say  but  one  word,  my  son,  and  by  to-morrow  morning  he 
shall  have  money  enough  to  set  him  free." 

"  What !     Would  you  give  me  twelve  thousand  francs?  " 

"  Ah  !  child,  do  you  not  see  that  we  are  traveling  on  at  the 
rate  of  four  leagues  an  hour?  We  shall  dine  at  Poitiers  before 
long,  and  there,  if  you  decide  to  sign  the  pact,  to  give  me  a 
single  proof  of  obedience,  a  great  proof  that  I  shall  require, 
then  the  Bordeaux  coach  shall  carry  fifteen  thousand  francs 
to  your  sister " 

"  Where  is  the  money?  " 

The  Spaniard  made  no  answer,  and  Lucien  said  within  him- 
self, "  There  I  had  him  ;  he  was  laughing  at  me." 

In  another  moment  they  took  their  places.  Neither  of 
them  said  a  word.  Silently  the  abbe  groped  in  the  pocket  of 
the  coach,  and  drew  out  a  traveler's  leather  pouch  with  three 
divisions  in  it ;  thence  he  took  a  hundred  Portuguese  moi- 
dores,  bringing  out  his  large  hand  filled  with  gold  three 
times. 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  349 

"  Father,  I  am  yours,"  said  Lucien,  dazzled  by  the  stream 
of  gold. 

"  Child  !  "  said  the  priest,  and  set  a  tender  kiss  on  Lucien's 
forehead.  "  There  is  twice  as  much  still  left  in  the  bag,  be- 
side the  money  for  traveling  expenses." 

"And  you  are  traveling  alone  !  "  cried  Lucien. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  the  Spaniard.  "I  have  more 
than  a  hundred  thousand  crowns  in  drafts  on  Paris.  A  diplo- 
matist without  money  is  in  your  position  of  this  morning — a 
poet  without  a  will  of  his  own  !  " 

As  Lucien  took  his  place  in  the  caleche  beside  the  so-called 
Spanish  diplomatist,  Eve  rose  to  give  her  child  a  draught  of 
milk,  found  the  fatal  letter  in  the  cradle,  and  read  it.  A 
sudden  cold  chilled  the  damps  of  morning  slumber,  dizziness 
came  over  her,  she  could  not  see.  She  called  aloud  to  Marion 
and  Kolb. 

"Has  my  brother  gone  out?"  she  asked,  and  Kolb  an- 
swered at  once  with,  "Yes,  montame,  pefore  tay." 

"  Keep  this  that  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  profound  secret," 
said  Eve.  "  My  brother  has  gone  no  doubt  to  make  away 
with  himself.  Hurry,  both  of  you,  make  inquiries  cautiously, 
and  look  along  the  river." 

Eve  was  left  alone  in  a  dull  stupor,  dreadful  to  see.  Her 
trouble  was  at  its  height  when  Petit-Claud  came  in  at  seven 
o'clock  to  talk  over  the  steps  to  be  taken  in  David's  case. 
At  such  a  time,  any  voice  in  the  world  may  speak,  and  we  let 
them  speak. 

"  Our  poor,  dear  David  is  in  prison,  madame,"  so  began 
Petit-Claud.  "  I  foresaw  all  along  that  it  would  end  in  this. 
1  advised  him  at  the  time  to  go  into  partnership  with  his  com- 
petitors, the  Cointets  ;  for  while  your  husband  has  simply  the 
idea,  they  have  the  means  of  putting  it  into  practical  shape. 
So,  as  soon  as  I  heard  of  his  arrest  yesterday  evening,  what  did 
I  do  but  hurry  away  to  find  the  Cointets  and  try  to  obtain 


350  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

such  concessions  as  might  satisfy  you.  If  you  try  to  keep  the 
discovery  to  yourselves,  you  will  continue  to  live  a  life  of 
shifts  and  chicanery.  You  must  give  in,  or  else,  when  you 
are  exhausted  and  at  the  last  gasp,  you  will  end  by  making  a 
bargain  with  some  capitalist  or  other,  and  perhaps  to  your  own 
detriment,  whereas  to-day  I  hope  to  see  you  make  a  good  one 
with  the  Messieurs  Cointet.  In  this  way  you  will  save  your- 
selves the  hardships  and  the  misery  of  the  inventor's  duel  with 
the  greed  of  the  capitalist  and  the  indifference  of  the  public. 
Let  us  see  !  If  the  Messieurs  Cointet  should  pay  your  debts — 
if,  over  and  above  your  debts,  they  should  pay  you  a  further 
sum  of  money  down,  whether  or  not  the  invention  succeeds ; 
while  at  the  same  time  it  is  thoroughly  understood  that  if  it 
succeeds  a  certain  proportion  of  the  profits  of  working  the 
patent  shall  be  yours,  would  you  not  be  doing  very  well? 
You  yourself,  madame,  would  then  be  the  proprietor  of  the 
plant  in  the  printing-office.  You  would  sell  the  business,  no 
doubt ;  it  is  quite  worth  twenty  thousand  francs.  I  will  un- 
dertake to  find  you  a  buyer  at  that  price. 

"  Now  if  you  draw  up  a  deed  of  partnership  with  the  Mes- 
sieurs Cointet,  and  receive  fifteen  thousand  francs  in  money 
paid  down,  you  will  have  thirty-five  thousand  francs  of  capital ; 
and  if  you  invest  it  in  the  funds  at  the  present  moment,  it 
will  bring  you  in  an  income  of  two  thousand  francs.  You 
can  live  on  two  thousand  francs  in  the  provinces.  Bear  in 
mind,  too,  madame,  that,  given  certain  contingencies,  there 
will  be  yet  further  payments.  I  say  '  contingencies,'  because 
we  must  lay  our  accounts  with  failure. 

"Very  well,"  continued  Petit-Claud,  "  now  these  things 
I  am  sure  that  I  can  obtain  for  you.  First  of  all,  David's 
release  from  prison ;  secondly,  fifteen  thousand  francs,  a  pre- 
mium paid  on  his  discovery,  whether  the  experiments  fail  or 
succeed ;  and,  lastly,  a  partnership  between  David  and  the 
Cointets,  to  be  taken  out  after  private  experiment  made 
jointly.  The  deed  of  partnership  for  the  working  of  the 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  351 

patent  should  be  drawn  up  on  the  following  basis :  The  Coin- 
tets  to  bear  all  the  expenses,  the  capital  invested  by  David  to 
be  confined  to  the  expenses  of  procuring  the  patent,  and  his 
share  of  the  profits  to  be  fixed  at  twenty-five  per  cent.  You 
are  a  clear-headed  and  very  sensible  woman,  qualities  which 
are  not  often  found  combined  with  great  beauty ;  think  over 
these  proposals,  and  you  will  see  that  they  are  very  favorable." 

Poor  Eve  in  her  despair  burst  into  tears.  "Ah,  sir!  why 
did  you  not  come  yesterday  evening  to  tell  me  this  ?  We 
should  have  been  spared  disgrace  and — and  something  far 
worse " 

"  I  was  talking  with  the  Cointets  until  midnight.  They 
are  behind  Metivier,  as  you  must  have  suspected.  But  how 
has  something  worse  than  our  poor  David's  arrest  happened 
since  yesterday  evening?" 

"  Here  is  the  awful  news  that  I  found  when  I  awoke  this 
morning,"  she  said,  holding  out  Lucien's  letter.  "  You  have 
just  given  me  proof  of  your  interest  in  us;  you  are  David's 
friend  and  Lucien's ;  I  need  not  ask  you,  sir,  to  keep  the 
secret " 

"You  need  not  feel  the  least  anxiety,"  said  Petit-Claud,  as 
he  returned  the  letter.  "  Lucien  will  not  take  his  life.  Your 
husband's  arrest  was  his  doing ;  he  was  obliged  to  find  some 
excuse  for  leaving  you,  and  this  exit  of  his  looks  to  me  like  a 
piece  of  stage  business." 

The  Cointets  had  gained  their  ends.  They  had  tormented 
the  inventor  and  his  family,  until,  worn  out  by  the  torture, 
the  victims  longed  for  a  respite,  and  then  seized  their  oppor- 
tunity and  made  the  offer.  Not  every  inventor  has  the  te- 
nacity of  the  bull-dog  that  will  perish  with  his  teeth  fast  set  in 
his  captive  ;  the  Cointets  had  shrewdly  estimated  David's 
character.  The  tall  Cointet  looked  upon  David's  imprison- 
ment as  the  first  scene  of  the  first  act  of  the  drama.  The 
second  act  opened  with  the  proposal  which  Petit-Claud  had 
just  made.  As  arch-schemer,  the  attorney  looked  Lucien's 


352  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

frantic  folly  as  a  bit  of  unhoped-for  luck,  a  chance  that  would 
finally  decide  the  issues  of  the  day. 

Eve  was  completely  prostrated  by  this  event ;  Petit-Claud 
saw  this,  and  meant  to  profit  by  her  despair  to  win  her  con- 
fidence, for  he  saw  at  last  how  much  she  influenced  her  hus- 
band. So  far  from  discouraging  Eve  he  tried  to  reassure  her 
and  very  cleverly  diverted  her  thoughts  to  the  prison.  She 
should  persuade  David  to  take  the  Cointets  into  partnership. 

"  David  told  me,  madame,  that  he  only  wished  for  a  fortune 
for  your  sake  and  your  brother's ;  but  it  should  be  clear  to 
you  by  now  that  to  try  to  make  a  rich  man  of  Lucien  would  be 
madness.  The  youngster  would  run  through  three  fortunes." 

Eve's  attitude  told  plainly  enough  that  she  had  no  more 
illusions  left  with  regard  to, her  brother.  The  lawyer  waited 
a  little  so  that  her  silence  should  have  the  weight  of  consent. 

"Things  being  so,  it  is  now  a  question  of  you  and  your 
child,"  he  said.  "  It  rests  with  you  to  decide  whether  an 
income  of  two  thousand  francs  will  be  enough  for  your  welfare, 
to  say  nothing  of  old  Sechard's  property.  Your  father-in- 
law's  income  has  amounted  to  seven  or  eight  thousand  francs 
for  a  long  time  past,  to  say  nothing  of  capital  lying  out  at 
interest.  So,  after  all,  you  have  a  good  prospect  before  you. 
Why  torment  yourself?" 

Petit-Claud  left  Eve  Sechard  to  reflect  upon  this  prospect. 
The  whole  scheme  had  been  drawn  up  with  no  little  skill  by 
the  tall  Cointet  the  evening  before. 

"  Give  them  the  glimpse  of  a  possibility  of  money  in  hand," 
the  lynx  had  said,  when  Petit-Claud  brought  the  news  of  the 
arrest;  "once  let  them  grow  accustomed  to  that  idea  and 
they  are  ours;  we  will  drive  a  bargain,  and  little  by  little  we 
shall  bring  them  down  to  our  price  for  the  secret." 

The  argument  of  the  second  act  of  the  commercial  drama 
was  in  a  manner  summed  up  in  that  speech. 

Mme.  S6chard,  heart-broken  and  full  of  dread  for  her 
brother's  fate,  dressed  and  came  downstairs.  An  agony  of 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  353 

terror  seized  her  when  she  thought  that  she  must  cross  Angou- 
iSme  alone  on  the  way  to  the  prison.  Petit-Claud  gave  little 
thought  to  his  fair  client's  distress.  When  he  came  back  to 
offer  his  arm,  it  was  from  a  tolerably  Machiavellian  motive ; 
but  Eve  gave  him  credit  for  delicate  consideration,  and  he 
allowed  her  to  thank  him  for  it.  The  little  attention,  at  such 
a  moment,  from  so  hard  a  man,  modified  Mme.  Sechard's  pre- 
vious opinion  of  Petit-Claud. 

"I  am  taking  you  round  by  the  longest  way,"  he  said, 
"and  we  shall  meet  nobody." 

"  For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  monsieur,  I  feel  that  I  have 
no  right  to  hold  up  my  head  before  other  people ;  I  had  a 
sharp  lesson  given  to  me  last  night " 

"  It  will  be  the  first  and  the  last." 

"  Oh  !  I  certainly  shall  not  stay  in  the  town  now " 

"Let  me  know  if  your  husband  consents  to  the  proposals 
that  are  all  but  definitely  offered  by  the  Cointets,"  said  Petit- 
Claud  at  the  gate  of  the  prison ;  "I  will  come  at  once  with 
an  order  for  David's  release  from  Cachan,  and,  in  all  likeli- 
hood, he  will  not  go  back  again  to  prison." 

This  suggestion,  made  on  the  very  threshold  of  the  jail,  was 
a  piece  of  cunning  strategy — a  combinazwne,  as  the  Italians 
call  an  indefinable  mixture  of  treachery  and  truth,  a  cunningly 
planned  fraud  which  does  not  break  the  letter  of  the  law,  or  a 
piece  of  deft  trickery  for  which  there  is  no  legal  remedy. 
St.  Bartholomew's,  for  instance,  was  a  political  combination. 

Imprisonment  for  debt,  for  reasons  previously  explained,  is 
such  a  rare  occurrence  in  the  provinces  that  there  is  no  house 
of  detention,  and  a  debtor  is  perforce  imprisoned  with  the 
accused,  convicted,  and  condemned — the  three  graduated 
subdivisions  of  the  class  generically  styled  criminal.  David 
was  put  for  the  time  being  in  a  cell  on  the  first  floor  from 
which  some  prisoner  had  probably  been  recently  discharged 
at  the  end  of  his  time.  Once  inscribed  on  the  warden's  reg- 
ister, with  the  amount  allowed  by  the  law  for  a  prisoner's 
23 


354  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

board  for  one  month,  David  confronted  a  big,  stout  man, 
more  powerful  than  the  King  himself  in  a  prisoner's  eyes; 
this  was  the  jailer. 

An  instance  of  a  thin  jailer  is  unknown  in  the  provinces. 
The  place,  to  begin  with,  is  almost  a  sinecure,  and  a  jailer  is 
a  kind  of  innkeeper  who  pays  no  rent  and  lives  very  well, 
while  his  prisoners  fare  very  ill ;  for,  like  an  innkeeper,  he 
gives  them  rooms  according  to  their  payments.  He  knew 
David  by  name,  and,  what  was  more,  knew  about  David's 
father,  and  thought  that  he  might  venture  to  let  the  printer 
have  a  good  room  on  credit  for  one  night ;  for  David  was 
penniless. 

The  prison  of  Angouteme  was  built  in  the  Middle  Ages  and 
has  no  more  changed  than  the  old  cathedral.  It  is  built 
against  the  old  presidial,  or  ancient  court  of  appeal,  and 
people  still  call  it  the  court-house.  It  boasts  the  conventional 
prison  gateway,  the  solid-looking,  nail-studded  door,  the  low, 
worn  archway  which  the  better  deserves  the  qualification 
"  cyclopean,"  because  the  jailer's  peephole  or  Judas  looks  out 
like  a  single  eye  from  the  front  of  the  building.  As  you  enter 
you  find  yourself  in  a  corridor  which  runs  across  the  entire 
width  of  the  building,  with  a  row  of  doors  of  cells  that  give 
upon  the  prison-yard  and  are  lighted  by  high  windows  covered 
with  a  square  iron  grating.  The  jailer's  house  is  separated 
from  these  cells  by  an  archway  in  the  middle,  through  which 
you  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  iron  gate  of  the  prison-yard.  The 
jailer  installed  David  in  a  cell  next  to  the  archway,  thinking 
that  he  would  like  to  have  a  man  of  David's  stamp  as  a  near 
neighbor  for  the  sake  of  company. 

"This  is  the  best  room,"  he  said.  David  was  struck  dumb 
with  amazement  at  the  sight  of  it. 

The  stone-walls  were  tolerably  damp.  The  windows,  set 
high  in  the  wall,  were  heavily  barred ;  the  stone-paved  floor 
was  cold  as  ice,  and  from  the  corridor  outside  came  the 
sound  of  the  measured  tramp  of  the  warder,  monotonous  as 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  355 

waves  on  the  beach.  "  You  are  a  prisoner  !  you  are  watched 
and  guarded  !  "  said  the  footsteps  at  every  moment  of  every 
hour.  All  these  small  things  together  produce  a  prodigious 
effect  upon  the  minds  of  honest  folk.  David  saw  that  the 
bed  was  execrable,  but  the  first  night  in  a  prison  is  full  of 
violent  agitation,  and  only  on  the  second  night  does  the  pris- 
oner notice  that  his  couch  is  hard.  The  jailer  was  graciously 
disposed  ;  he  naturally  suggested  that  his  prisoner  should  walk 
in  the  yard  until  nightfall. 

David's  hour  of  anguish  only  began  when  he  was  locked 
into  his  cell  for  the  night.  Lights  are  not  allowed  in  the 
cells.  A  prisoner  detained  on  arrest  used  to  be  subjected  to 
rules  devised  for  malefactors,  unless  he  brought  a  special  ex- 
emption signed  by  the  public  prosecutor.  The  jailer  cer- 
tainly might  allow  David  to  sit  by  his  fire,  but  the  prisoner 
must  go  back  to  his  cell  at  locking-up  time.  Poor  David 
learned  the  horrors  of  prison  life  by  experience,  the  rough 
coarseness  of  the  treatment  revolted  him.  Yet  a  revulsion, 
familiar  to  those  who  live  by  thought,  passed  over  him  ;  he 
detached  himself  from  his  loneliness  and  found  a  way  of 
escape  in  a  poet's  waking  dream. 

At  last  the  unhappy  man's  thoughts  turned  to  his  own 
affairs.  The  stimulating  influence  of  a  prison  upon  conscience 
and  self-scrutiny  is  immense.  David  asked  himself  whether 
he  had  done  his  duty  as  the  head  of  a  family.  What  despair- 
ing grief  his  wife  must  feel  at  this  moment !  Why  had  he 
not  done  as  Marion  had  said,  and  earned  money  enough  to 
pursue  his  investigations  at  leisure  ? 

"  How  can  I  stay  at  Angoul&me  after  such  a  disgrace? 
And  when  I  come  out  of  prison,  what  will  become  of  us? 
Where  shall  we  go  ?  " 

Doubts  as  to  his  process  began  to  occur  to  him,  and  he 
passed  through  an  agony  which  none  save  inventors  can 
understand.  Going  from  doubt  to  doubt,  David  began  to  see 
his  real  position  more  clearly  ;  and  to  himself  he  said,  as  the 


356  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

Cointets  had  said  to  old  Sechard,  as  Petit-Claud  had  just  said 
to  Eve,  "  Suppose  that  all  should  go  well,  what  does  it  amount 
to  in  practice  ?  The  first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  take  out  a 
patent,  and  money  is  needed  for  that — and  experiments  must 
be  tried  on  a  large  scale  in  a  paper-mill,  which  means  that  the 
discovery  must  pass  into  other  hands.  Oh  !  Petit-Claud  was 
right!" 

A  very  vivid  light  sometimes  dawns  in  the  darkest  prison. 

"Pshaw!  "said  David;  "I  shall  see  Petit-Claud  to-mor- 
row no  doubt,"  and  he  turned  and  slept  on  the  filthy  mat- 
tress covered  with  coarse  brown  sacking. 

So  when  Eve  unconsciously  played  into  the  hands  of  the 
enemy  that  morning,  she  found  her  husband  more  than  ready 
to  listen  to  the  proposals.  She  put  her  arms  about  him  and 
kissed  him,  and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  (for  there 
was  but  one  chair  of  the  poorest  and  commonest  kind  in  the 
cell).  Her  eyes  fell  on  the  unsightly  pail  in  a  corner,  and 
over  the  walls  covered  with  inscriptions  left  by  David's  prede- 
cessors, and  tears  filled  the  eyes  that  were  red  with  weeping. 
She  had  sobbed  long  and  very  bitterly,  but  the  sight  of  her 
husband  in  a  felon's  cell  drew  fresh  tears. 

"And  the  desire  of  fame  may  lead  one  to  this!"  she 
cried.  "  Oh  !  my  angel,  give  up  your  career.  Let  us  walk 
together  along  the  beaten  track ;  we  will  not  try  to  make 

haste  to  be  rich,  David I  need  very  little  to  be  very 

happy,  especially  now,  after  all  that  we  have  been  through. 
And  if  you  only  knew — the  disgrace  of  arrest  is  not  only 
the  worst Look." 

She  held  out  Lucien's  letter,  and,  when  David  had  read  it, 
she  tried  to  comfort  him  by  repeating  Petit-Claud's  bitter 
comment. 

"If  Lucien  has  taken  his  life,  the  thing  is  done  by  now," 
said  David  ;  "if  he  has  not  made  away  with  himself  by  this 
time,  he  will  not  kill  himself.  As  he  himself  says,  'his 
courage  cannot  last  longer  than  a  morning '  " 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  357 

"But  the  suspense!"  cried  Eve,  forgiving  almost  every- 
thing at  the  thought  of  death.  Then  she  told  her  husband 
of  the  proposals  which  Petit-Claud  professed  to  have  received 
from  the  Cointets.  David  accepted  them  at  once  with  mani- 
fest pleasure. 

"We  shall  have  enough  to  live  upon  in  a  village  near 
L'Houmeau,  where  the  Cointets'  paper-mill  stands.  I  want 
nothing  now  but  a  quiet  life,"  said  David.  "If  Lucien  has 
punished  himself  by  death,  we  can  wait  so  long  as  father 
lives ;  and  if  Lucien  is  still  living,  poor  fellow,  he  will  learn 
to  adapt  himself  to  our  narrow  ways.  The  Cointets  certainly 
will  make  money  by  my  discovery ;  but,  after  all,  what  am  I 
compared  with  our  country?  One  man  in  it,  that  is  all ;  and 
if  the  whole  country  is  benefited,  I  shall  be  content.  There  ! 
dear  Eve,  neither  you  nor  I  were  meant  to  be  successful  in 
business.  We  do  not  care  enough  about  making  a  profit ;  we 
have  not  the  dogged  objection  to  parting  with  our  money, 
even  when  it  is  legally  owing,  which  is  a  kind  of  virtue  of  the 
counting-house,  for  these  two  sorts  of  avarice  are  called  pru- 
dence and  a  faculty  of  business." 

Eve  felt  overjoyed ;  she  and  her  husband  held  the  same 
views,  and  this  is  one  of  the  sweetest  flowers  of  love ;  for  two 
human  beings  who  love  each  other  may  not  be  of  the  same 
mind,  nor  take  the  same  view  of  their  interests.  She  wrote 
to  Petit-Claud  telling  him  that  they  both  consented  to  the 
general  scheme,  and  asked  him  to  release  David.  Then  she 
begged  the  jailer  to  deliver  the  message  to  the  awaiting 
attorney. 

Ten  minutes  later  Petit-Claud  entered  the  dismal  place. 
"Go  home,  madame,"  he  said,  addressing  Eve,  "we  will 
follow  you.  Well,  my  dear  friend  "  (turning  to  David),  "so 
you  allowed  them  to  catch  you  !  Why  did  you  come  out  ? 
How  came  you  to  make  such  a  mistake  ?  " 

"  Eh  !  how  could  I  do  otherwise?  Look  at  this  letter  that 
Lucien  wrote." 


SOo  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

David  held  out  a  sheet  of  paper.  It  was  Cerizet's  forged 
letter. 

Petit-Claud  read  it,  looked  at  it,  fingered  the  paper  as  he 
talked,  and  still  talking,  presently,  as  if  through  absence  of 
mind,  folded  it  up  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  Then  he  linked 
his  arm  in  David's,  and  they  went  out  together,  the  order  for 
release  having  come  during  the  conversation. 

It  was  like  heaven  to  David  to  be  at  home  again.  He  cried 
like  a  child  when  he  took  little  Lucien  in  his  arms  and  looked 
round  his  room  after  three  weeks  of  imprisonment,  and  the 
disgrace,  according  to  provincial  notions,  of  the  last  few 
hours.  Kolb  and  Marion  had  come  back.  Marion  had  heard 
in  L'Houmeau  that  Lucien  had  been  seen  walking  along  on 
the  Paris  road,  somewhere  beyond  Marsac.  Some  country 
folk,  coming  in  to  market,  had  noticed  his  fine  clothes. 
Kolb,  therefore,  had  set  out  on  horseback  along  the  high- 
road, and  heard  at  last  at  Mansle  that  Lucien  was  traveling 
post  in  a  caleche — M.  Marron  had  recognized  him  as  he 
passed. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you?"  said  Petit-Claud.  "That  fellow 
is  not  a  poet ;  he  is  a  romance  in  heaven  knows  how  many 
chapters. ' ' 

"Traveling  post!"  repeated  Eve.  "Where  can  he  be 
going  this  time?" 

"  Now  go  to  see  the  Cointets,  they  are  expecting  you," 
said  Petit-Claud,  turning  to  David. 

"Ah,  monsieur !  "  cried  the  beautiful  Eve,  "  pray  do  your 
best  for  our  interests  ;  our  whole  future  lies  in  your  hands." 

"If  you  prefer  it,  madame,  the  conference  can  be  held 
here.  I  will  leave  David  with  you.  The  Cointets  will  come 
this  evening,  and  you  shall  see  if  I  can  defend  your  in- 
terests." 

"Ah,  monsieur,  I  should  be  very  glad,"  said  Eve. 

"Very  well,"  said  Petit-Claud;  "this  evening,  at  seven 
o'clock." 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  359 

"Thank  you,"  said  Eve;  and  from  her  tone  and  glance 
Petit-Claud  knew  that  he  had  made  great  progress  in  his  fair 
client's  confidence. 

"You  have  nothing  to  fear;  you  see  I  was  right,"  he 
added.  "  Your  brother  is  a  hundred  miles  away  from  suicide, 
and,  when  all  comes  to  all,  perhaps  you  will  have  a  little  for- 
tune this  evening.  A  bona-fide  purchaser  for  the  business  has 
turned  up." 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  said  Eve,  "  why  should  we  not  wait 
a  while  before  binding  ourselves  to  the  Cointets  ?  " 

Petit-Claud  saw  the  danger.  ' '  You  are  forgetting,  madame, ' ' 
he  said,  "  that  you  cannot  sell  your  business  until  you  have 
paid  Monsieur  Metivier ;  for  a  distress  warrant  has  been 
issued." 

As  soon  as  Petit-Claud  reached  home  he  sent  for  Cerizet, 
and,  when  the  printer's  foreman  appeared,  drew  him  into  the 
embrasure  of  the  window. 

"  To-morrow  evening,"  he  said  "  you  will  be  the  proprietor 
of  the  Sechards'  printing-office,  and  then  there  are  those  be- 
hind you  who  have  influence  enough  to  transfer  the  license  ;  " 
then,  in  a  lowered  voice,  "but  you  have  no  mind  to  end  in 
the  hulks,  I  suppose?" 

"  The  hulks  !     What's  that  ?     What's  that  ?  " 

"  Your  letter  to  David  was  a  forgery.  It  is  in  my  posses- 
sion. What  would  Henriette  say  in  a  court  of  law.  I  do  not 
want  to  ruin  you,"  he  added  hastily,  seeing  how  white  Cer- 
izet's  face  grew. 

"You  want  something  more  of  me?"  cried  Cerizet. 

"Well,  here  it  is,"  said  Petit-Claud.  "Follow  me  care- 
fully. You  will  be  a  master  printer  in  AngoulSme  in  two 
months'  time,  but  you  will  not  have  paid  for  your  business — 
you  will  not  pay  for  it  in  ten  years.  You  will  work  a  long 
while  yet  for  those  that  have  lent  you  the  money,  and  you  will 
be  the  cat's-paw  of  the  Liberal  party.  Now  /shall  draw  up  your 
agreement  with  Gannerac,  and  I  can  draw  it  up  in  such  a  way 


360  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

that  you  will  have  the  business  in  your  own  hands  one  of  these 
days.  But — if  the  Liberals  start  a  paper,  if  you  bring  it  out, 
and  if  I  am  deputy  public  prosecutor,  then  you  will  come  to 
an  understanding  with  the  Cointets  and  publish  articles  of  such 
a  nature  that  they  will  have  the  paper  suppressed.  The  Coin- 
tets will  pay  you  handsomely  for  that  service.  I  know,  of 
course,  that  you  will  be  condemned  and  live  on  prison  fare 
for  a  while,  but  you  will  be  a  hero,  a  victim  of  persecution  ; 
you  will  be  a  personage  among  the  Liberals — a  Sergeant  Mer- 
cier,  a  Paul-Louis  Courier,  a  Manuel  on  a  small  scale.  I  will 
take  care  that  they  leave  you  your  license.  In  fact,  on  the  day 
when  the  newspaper  is  suppressed,  I  will  burn  this  letter  before 
your  eyes.  Your  fortune  will  not  cost  you  much." 

A  workingman  has  the  haziest  notions  as  to  the  law  with 
regard  to  forgery ;  and  Cerizet,  who  beheld  himself  already 
in  the  dock,  breathed  again. 

"In  three  years'  time,"  continued  Petit-Claud,  "  I  shall  be 
public  prosecutor  in  Angouleme.  You  may  have  need  of  me 
some  day ;  bear  that  in  mind." 

"It's  agreed,"  said  Cerizet,  "but  you  don't  know  me. 
Burn  that  letter  now  and  trust  to  my  gratitude." 

Petit-Claud  looked  Cerizet  in  the  face.  It  was  a  duel  in 
which  one  man's  gaze  is  a  scalpel  with  which  he  essays  to  probe 
the  soul  of  another,  and  the  eyes  of  that  other  are  a  theatre,  as 
it  were,  to  which  all  his  virtue  is  summoned  for  display. 

Petit-Claud  did  not  utter  a  word.  He  lighted  a  taper  and 
burned  the  letter.  "He  has  his  way  to  make,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

"  Here  is  one  that  will  go  through  fire  and  water  for  you," 
said  Cerizet. 

David  awaited  the  interview  with  the  Cointets  with  a  vague 
feeling  of  uneasiness ;  not,  however,  on  account  of  the  pro- 
posed partnership,  nor  for  his  own  interests — he  felt  nervous 
as  to  their  opinion  of  his  work.  He  was  in  something  the 


LOST  1LLUS1OXS.  361 

same  position  as  a  dramatic  author  before  his  judges.  The 
inventor's  pride  in  the  discovery  so  nearly  completed  left  no 
room  for  any  other  feelings. 

At  seven  o'clock  that  evening,  while  Mme.  du  Chatelet, 
pleading  a  sick  headache,  had  gone  to  her  room  in  her  un- 
happiness  over  the  rumors  of  Lucien's  departure ;  while  M. 
le  Comte,  left  to  himself,  was  entertaining  his  guests  at  dinner 
— the  tall  Cointet  and  his  stout  brother,  accompanied  by  Petit- 
Claud,  opened  negotiations  with  the  competitor  who  had 
delivered  himself  up,  bound  hand  and  foot. 

A  difficulty  awaited  them  at  the  outset.  How  was  it  pos- 
sible to  draw  up  a  deed  of  partnership  unless  they  knew 
David's  secret  ?  And  if  David  divulged  his  secret,  he  would 
be  at  the  mercy  of  the  Cointets.  Petit-Claud  arranged  that 
the  deed  of  partnership  should  be  first  drawn  up.  Thereupon 
the  tall  Cointet  asked  to  see  some  specimens  of  David's  work, 
and  David  brought  out  the  last  sheets  that  he  had  made, 
guaranteeing  the  price  of  production. 

"Well,"  said  Petit-Claud,  "there  you  have  the  basis  of 
the  agreement  ready  made.  You  can  go  into  partnership  on 
the  strength  of  those  samples,  inserting  a  clause  to  protect 
yourselves  in  case  the  conditions  of  the  patent  are  not  fulfilled 
in  the  manufacturing  process." 

"It  is  one  thing  to  make  samples  of  paper  on  a  small  scale 
in  your  own  room  with  a  small  mould,  monsieur,  and  another 
to  turn  out  a  quantity,"  said  the  tall  Cointet,  addressing 
David.  "  Quite  another  thing,  as  you  may  judge  from  this 
single  fact.  We  manufacture  colored  papers.  We  buy  par- 
cels of  coloring  absolutely  identical.  Every  cake  of  indigo 
used  for  '  blueing '  our  post-demy  is  taken  from  a  batch  sup- 
plied by  the  same  maker.  Well,  we  have  never  yet  been  able 
to  obtain  two  batches  of  precisely  the  same  shade.  There 
are  variations  in  the  material  which  we  cannot  detect.  The 
quantity  and  the  quality  of  the  pulp  modify  every  question  at 
once.  Suppose  that  you  have  in  a  caldron  a  quantity  of 


362  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

ingredients  of  some  kind  (I  don't  ask  to  know  what  they 
are),  you  can  do  as  you  like  with  them,  the  treatment  can  be 
uniformly  applied,  you  can  manipulate,  knead,  and  pestle  the 
mass  at  your  pleasure  until  you  have  a  homogeneous  sub- 
stance. But  who  will  guarantee  that  it  will  be  the  same  with 
a  batch  of  five  hundred  reams,  and  that  your  plan  will  suc- 
ceed in  bulk?" 

David,  Eve,  and  Petit-Claud  looked  at  one  another ;  their 
eyes  said  many  things. 

"Take  a  somewhat  similar  case,"  continued  the  tall  Coin- 
let  after  a  pause.  "You  cut  two  or  three  trusses  of  meadow 
hay,  and  store  it  in  a  loft  before  '  the  heat  is  out  of  the 
grass,'  as  the  peasants  say;  the  hay  ferments,  but  no  harm 
comes  of  it.  You  follow  up  your  experiment  by  storing  a 
couple  of  thousand  trusses  in  a  wooden  barn — and,  of  course, 
the  hay  smoulders,  and  the  barn  blazes  up  like  a  lighted 
match.  You  are  an  educated  man,"  continued  Cointet; 
"  you  can  see  the  application  for  yourself.  So  far,  you  have 
only  cut  your  two  trusses  of  hay ;  we  are  afraid  of  setting  fire 
to  our  paper-mill  by  bringing  in  a  couple  of  thousand  trusses. 
In  other  words,  we  may  spoil  more  than  one  batch,  make 
heavy  losses,  and  find  ourselves  none  the  better  for  laying  out 
a  good  deal  of  money." 

David  was  completely  floored  by  this  reasoning.  Practical 
wisdom  spoke  in  matter-of-fact  language  to  theory,  whose 
word  is  always  for  the  future. 

"  Devil  fetch  me,  if  I'll  sign  such  a  deed  of  partnership  !  " 
the  stout  Cointet  cried  bluntly.  "  You  may  throw  away  your 
money  if  you  like,  Boniface ;  as  for  me,  I  shall  keep  mine. 
Here  is  my  offer — to  payM.  SSchard's  debts  0«</six  thousand 
francs,  and  another  three  thousand  francs  in  bills  at  twelve  and 
fifteen  months,"  he  added.  "  That  will  be  quite  enough  risk 
to  run.  We  have  a  balance  of  twelve  thousand  francs  against 
Mdtivier.  That  will  make  fifteen  thousand  francs.  That  is 
all  that  I  would  pay  for  the  secret  if  I  were  going  to  ex- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  363 

ploit  it  for  myself.  So  this  is  the  great  discovery  that  you 
were  talking  about,  Boniface?  Many  thanks  !  I  thought  you 
had  more  sense.  No,  you  can't  call  this  business." 

"The  question  for  you,"  said  Petit-Claud,  undismayed  by 
the  explosion,  "resolves  itself  into  this:  Do  you  care  to  risk 
twenty  thousand  francs  to  buy  a  secret  that  may  make  rich 
men  of  you  ?  Why,  the  risk  usually  is  in  proportion  to  the 
profit,  gentlemen.  You  stake  twenty  thousand  francs  on  your 
luck.  A  gambler  puts  down  a  louis  at  roulette  for  a  chance 
of  winning  thirty-six,  but  he  knows  that  the  louis  is  lost.  Do 
the  same." 

"  I  must  have  time  to  think  it  over,"  said  the  stout  Cointet ; 
"  I  am  not  so  clever  as  my  brother.  I  am  a  plain,  straightfor- 
ward sort  of  chap  that  only  knows  one  thing — how  to  print 
prayer-books  at  twenty  sous  and  sell  them  for  two  francs. 
Where  I  see  an  invention  that  has  only  been  tried  once,  I  see 
ruin.  You  succeed  with  the  first  batch,  you  spoil  the  next, 
you  go  on,  and  you  are  drawn  in  ;  for  once  put  an  arm  into 
that  machinery,  the  rest  of  you  follows,"  and  he  related  an 
anecdote  very  much  to  the  point — how  a  Bordeaux  merchant 
had  ruined  himself  by  following  a  scientific  man's  advice,  and 
trying  to  bring  the  Landes  into  cultivation ;  and  followed  up 
the  tale  with  half-a-dozen  similar  instances  of  agricultural  and 
commercial  failures  nearer  home  in  the  departments  of  the 
Charente  and  Dordogne.  He  waxed  warm  over  his  recitals. 
He  would  not  listen  to  another  word.  Petit-Claud's  demurs, 
so  far  from  soothing  the  stout  Cointet,  appeared  to  irritate 
him. 

"  I  would  rather  give  more  for  a  certainty,  if  I  made  only 
a  small  profit  on  it,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  brother.  "  It  is 
my  opinion  that  things  have  not  gone  far  enough  for  busi- 
ness," he  concluded. 

"Still  you  came  here  for  something,  didn't  you?"  asked 
Petit-Claud.  "  What  is  your  offer? " 

"  I  offer  to  release  M.  Sechard,  and,  if  his  plan  succeeds, 


364  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

to  give  him  thirty  per  cent,  of  the  profits,"  the  stout  Cointet 
answered  briskly. 

"But,  monsieur,"  objected  Eve,  "how  should  we  live 
while  the  experiments  were  being  made?  My  husband  has 
endured  the  disgrace  of  imprisonment  already;  he  may  as 
well  go  back  to  prison,  it  makes  no  difference  now,  and  we 
will  pay  our  debts  ourselves " 

Petit-Claud  laid  a  finger  on  his  lips  in  warning. 

"  You  are  unreasonable,"  said  he,  addressing  the  brothers. 
"You  have  seen  the  paper;  Monsieur  Sechard's  father  told 
you  that  he  had  shut  his  son  up,  and  that  he  had  made  capital 
paper  in  a  single  night  from  materials  that  must  have  cost  a 
mere  nothing.  You  are  here  to  make  an  offer.  Are  you 
purchasers,  yes  or  no  ?  " 

"Stay,"  said  the  tall  Cointet,  "whether  my  brother  is 
willing  or  not,  I  will  risk  this  much  myself.  I  will  pay  M. 
Sechard's  debts,  I  will  pay  down  six  thousand  francs  over  and 
above  the  debts,  and  M.  Sechard  shall  have  thirty  per  cent, 
of  the  profits.  But  mind  this — if  in  the  space  of  one  year  he 
fails  to  carry  out  the  undertakings  which  he  himself  will  make 
in  the  deed  of  partnership,  he  must  return  the  six  thousand 
francs,  and  we  shall  keep  the  patent  and  extricate  ourselves 
as  best  we  may. ' ' 

"Are  you  sure  of  yourself?"  asked  Petit-Claud,  taking 
David  aside. 

"Yes,"  said  David.  He  was  deceived  by  the  tactics  of 
the  brothers,  and  afraid  lest  the  stout  Cointet  should  break 
off  the  negotiations  on  which  his  future  depended. 

"Very  well,  I  will  draft  the  deed,"  said  Petit-Claud,  ad- 
dressing the  rest  of  the  party.  "  Each  of  you  shall  have  a 
copy  to-night,  and  you  will  have  all  to-morrow  morning  in 
which  to  think  it  over.  To-morrow  afternoon  at  four  o'clock, 
when  the  court  rises,  you  will  sign  the  agreement.  You,  gen- 
tlemen, will  withdraw  Mdtivier's  suit,  and  I,  for  my  part,  will 
write  to  stop  proceedings  in  the  Court-Royal ;  we  will  give 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  365 

notice  on  either  side  that  the  affair  has  been  settled  out  of 
court." 

David  Sechard 's  undertakings  were  thus  worded  in  the 
deed  : 

"  M.  David  Sechard,  printer  of  AngouleTne,  affirming  that 
he  has  discovered  a  method  of  sizing  paper-pulp  in  the  vat, 
and  also  a  method  of  effecting  a  reduction  of  fifty  per  cent. 
in  the  price  of  all  kinds  of  manufactured  papers,  by  intro- 
ducing certain  vegetable  substances  into  the  pulp,  either  by 
intermixture  of  such  substances  with  the  rags  already  in  use 
or  by  employing  them  solely  without  the  addition  of  rags  :  a 
partnership  for  working  the  patent  to  be  presently  applied  for 
is  entered  upon  by  M.  David  Sechard  and  the  firm  of  Cointet 
Brothers,  subject  to  the  following  conditional  clauses  and  stip- 
ulations." 

One  of  the  clauses  was  so  drafted  that  David  Sechard  for- 
feited all  his  rights  if  he  failed  to  fulfill  his  engagements  within 
the  year;  the  tall  Cointet  was  particularly  careful  to  insert 
that  clause,  and  David  Sechard  allowed  it  to  pass. 

When  Petit- Claud  appeared  with  a  copy  of  the  agreement 
next  morning  at  half-past  seven  o'clock,  he  brought  news  for 
David  and  his  wife.  Cerizet  offered  twenty-two  thousand 
francs  for  the  business.  The  whole  affair  could  be  signed  and 
settled  in  the  course  of  the  evening.  "But  if  the  Cointets 
knew  about  it,"  he  added,  "they  would  be  quite  capable  of 
refusing  to  sign  the  deed  of  partnership,  of  harassing  you, 
and  selling  you  up." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  payment  ?  "  asked  Eve.  She  had  thought 
it  hopeless  to  try  to  sell  the  business ;  and  now,  to  her  aston- 
ishment, a  bargain  which  would  have  been  their  salvation 
three  months  ago  was  concluded  in  this  summary  fashion. 

"The  money  has  been  deposited  with  me,"  he  answered 
succinctly. 


366  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

"  Why,  here  is  magic  at  work  !  "  said  David,  and  he  asked 
Petit-Claud  for  an  explanation  of  this  piece  of  luck. 

"No,"  said  Petit-Claud,  "it  is  very  simple.  The  mer- 
chants in  L'Houmeau  want  a  newspaper." 

"  But  I  am  bound  not  to  publish  a  paper,"  said  David. 

"Yes,  you  are  bound,  but  is  your  successor?  However  it 
is,"  he  continued,  "do  not  trouble  yourself  at  all ;  sell  the 
business,  pocket  the  proceeds,  and  leave  Cerizet  to  find  his 
way  through  the  conditions  of  sale — he  can  take  care  of 
himself." 

"Yes,"  said  Eve. 

"  And  if  it  turns  out  that  you  may  not  print  a  newspaper 
in  Angouldme,"  said  Petit-Claud,  "  those  who  are  finding  the 
capital  for  Cerizet  will  bring  out  the  paper  in  L'Houmeau." 

The  prospect  of  twenty-two  thousand  francs,  of  want  now 
at  end,  dazzled  Eve.  The  partnership  and  its  hopes  took  a 
second  place.  And,  therefore,  M.  and  Mme.  Sechard  gave 
way  on  a  final  point  of  dispute.  The  tall  Cointet  insisted 
that  the  patent  should  be  taken  out  in  his  name.  He  estab- 
lished beyond  cavil  that  David's  rights  were  perfectly  defined 
in  the  deed  of  partnership,  and  that,  therefore,  the  patent 
might  be  taken  out  in  the  name  of  any  one  of  the  partners. 
What  difference  could  it  make?  The  stout  Cointet  said  the 
last  word. 

"  He  is  finding  the  money  for  the  patent ;  he  is  bearing 
the  expenses  of  the  journey — another  two  thousand  francs 
over  and  above  the  rest  of  the  expenses.  He  must  take  it 
out  in  his  own  name,  or  we  will  not  stir  in  the  matter." 

The  lynx  gained  a  victory  at  all  points.  The  deed  of  part- 
nership was  signed  that  afternoon  at  half-past  four. 

The  tall  Cointet  politely  gave  Mme.  Sechard  a  dozen 
thread-pattern  forks  and  spoons  and  a  beautiful  Ternaux 
shawl,  "by  way  of  pin-money,"  said  he,  and  to  efface  any 
unpleasant  impression  made  in  the  heat  of  discussion.  The 
copies  of  the  draft  had  scarcely  been  made  out,  Cachan  had 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  367 

barely  had  time  to  send  the  documents  to  Petit-Claud,  to- 
gether with  the  three  unlucky  forged  bills,  when  the  Sechards 
heard  a  deafening  rumble  in  the  street,  a  dray  from  the  Mes- 
sageries  stopped  before  the  door,  and  Kolb's  voice  made  the 
staircase  ring  again. 

"  Montame  !  montame  !  vifteen  tausend  vrancs,  vrom  Boi- 
diers  "  (Poitiers).  "  Goot  money  !  vrom  Monziere  Lucien  !  " 

"Fifteen  thousand  francs!  "  cried  Eve,  throwing  up  her 
arms. 

"  Yes,  madame,"  said  the  carman  in  the  doorway,  "  fifteen 
thousand  francs,  brought  by  the  Bordeaux  coach,  and  they 
didn't  want  any  more  neither  !  I  have  two  men  downstairs 
bringing  up  the  bags.  Monsieur  Lucien  Chardon  de  Rubempre 
is  the  sender.  I  have  brought  up  a  little  leather  bag  for 
you,  containing  five  hundred  francs  in  gold,  and  a  letter  it's 
likely." 

Eve  thought  that  she  must  be  dreaming  as  she  read : 

"  MY  DEAR  SISTER  : — Here  are  fifteen  thousand  francs.  In- 
stead of  taking  my  life  I  have  sold  it.  I  am  no  longer  my 
own  ;  I  am  only  the  secretary  of  a  Spanish  diplomatist ;  I  am 
his  creature.  A  new  and  dreadful  life  is  beginning  for  me. 
Perhaps  I  should  have  done  better  to  drown  myself. 

"Good-by.  David  will  be  released,  and,  with  the  four 
thousand  francs,  he  can  buy  a  little  paper-mill,  no  doubt,  and 
make  his  fortune.  Forget  me,  all  of  you.  This  is  the  wish 
of  your  unhappy  brother  LUCIEN." 

"  It  is  decreed  that  my  poor  boy  should  be  unlucky  in 
everything,  and  even  when  he  does  well,  as  he  said  himself," 
said  Mme.  Chardon,  as  she  watched  the  men  piling  up  the 
bags. 

"  We  have  had  a  narrow  escape  !  "  exclaimed  the  tall 
Cointet,  when  he  was  once  in  the  Place  du  Murier.  "An 
hour  later  the  glitter  of  the  silver  would  have  thrown  a  new 


368  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

light  on  the  deed  of  partnership.  Our  man  would  have  fought 
shy  of  it.  We  have  his  promise  now,  and  in  three  months' 
time  we  shall  know  what  to  do." 

That  very  evening,  at  seven  o'clock,  Cerizet  bought  the 
business,  and  the  money  was  paid  over,  the  purchaser  under- 
taking to  pay  rent  for  the  last  quarter.  The  next  day  Eve 
sent  forty  thousand  francs  to  the  receiver-general,  and  bought 
two  thousand  five  hundred  francs  of  rentes  in  her  husband's 
name.  Then  she  wrote  to  her  father-in-law  and  asked  him  to 
find  a  small  farm,  worth  about  ten  thousand  francs,  for  her 
near  Marsac.  She  meant  to  invest  her  own  fortune  in  this 
way. 

The  tall  Cointet's  plot  was  formidably  simple.  From  the 
very  first  he  considered  that  the  plan  of  sizing  the  pulp  in  the 
vat  was  impracticable.  The  real  secret  of  fortune  lay  in  the 
composition  of  the  pulp,  in  the  cheap  vegetable  fibre  as  a  sub- 
stitute for  rags.  He  made  up  his  mind,  therefore,  to  lay  im- 
mense stress  on  the  secondary  problem  of  sizing  the  pulp,  and 
to  pass  over  the  discovery  of  cheap  raw  material,  and  for  the 
following  reasons : 

The  Angouldme  paper-mills  manufacture  paper  for  sta- 
tioners. Notepaper,  foolscap,  crown,  and  post-demy  are  all 
necessarily  sized  ;  and  these  papers  have  been  the  pride  of  the 
Angouldme  mills  for  a  long  while  past,  stationery  being  the 
specialty  of  the  Charente.  This  fact  gave  color  to  the  Coin- 
lets'  urgency  upon  the  point  of  sizing  in  the  pulping-trough ; 
but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  cared  nothing  for  this  part  of 
David's  researches.  The  demand  for  writing-paper  is  exceed- 
ingly small  compared  with  the  almost  unlimited  demand  for 
unsized  paper  for  printers.  As  Boniface  Cointet  traveled  to 
Paris  to  take  out  the  patent  in  his  own  name,  he  was  project- 
ing plans  that  were  like  to  work  a  revolution  in  his  paper-mill. 
Arrived  in  Paris,  he  took  up  his  quarters  with  Metivier,  and 
gave  his  instructions  to  his  agent.  Metivier  was  to  call  upon 
the  proprietors  of  newspapers  and  offer  to  deliver  paper  at 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  369 

prices  below  those  quoted  by  all  other  houses ;  he  could  guar- 
antee in  each  case  that  the  paper  should  be  a  better  color,  and 
in  every  way  superior  to  the  best  kinds  hitherto  in  use.  News- 
papers are  always  supplied  by  contract ;  there  would  be  time 
before  the  present  contracts  expired  to  complete  all  the  sub- 
terranean operations  with  buyers  and  to  obtain  a  monopoly 
of  the  trade.  Cointet  calculated  that  he  could  rid  himself  of 
Sechard  while  Metivier  was  taking  orders  from  the  principal 
Paris  newspapers,  which  even  then  consumed  two  hundred 
reams  daily.  Cointet  naturally  offered  Metivier  a  large  com- 
mission on  the  contracts,  for  he  wished  to  secure  a  clever 
representative  on  the  spot  and  to  waste  no  time  in  traveling 
to  and  fro.  And  in  this  manner  the  fortunes  of  the  firm  of 
Metivier,  one  of  the  largest  houses  in  the  paper-trade,  were 
founded.  The  tall  Cointet  went  back  to  Angouleme  to  be 
present  at  Petit-Claud's  wedding,  with  a  mind  at  rest  as  to  the 
future. 

Petit-Claud  had  sold  his  professional  connection,  and  was 
only  waiting  for  M.  Milaud's  promotion  to  take  the  public 
prosecutor's  place  which  had  been  promised  to  him  by  the 
Comtesse  du  Chatelet.  The  public  prosecutor's  second  deputy 
was  appointed  first  deputy  to  the  Court  of  Limoges,  the  keeper 
of  the  seals  sent  a  man  of  his  own  to  Angoulgme,  and  the  post 
of  first  deputy  was  kept  vacant  for  a  couple  of  months.  The 
interval  was  Petit-Claud's  honeymoon. 

While  Boniface  Cointet  was  in  Paris,  David  made  a  first 
experimental  batch  of  unsized  paper  far  superior  to  that  in 
common  use  for  newspapers.  He  followed  it  up  with  a  second 
batch  of  magnificent  vellum  paper  for  fine  printing,  and  this 
the  Cointets  used  for  a  new  edition  of  their  diocesan  prayer- 
book.  The  material  had  been  privately  prepared  by  David 
himself;  he  would  have  no  helpers  but  Kolb  and  Marion. 

When  Boniface  came  back  the  whole  affair  wore  a  different 
aspect ;  he  looked  at  the  samples,  and  was  fairly  satisfied. 

"  My  good  friend,"  he  said,  "  the  whole  trade  of  Angou- 
24 


C70  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

leme  is  in  crown  paper.  We  must  make  the  best  possible 
crown  paper  at  half  the  present  price ;  that  is  the  first  and 
foremost  question  for  us." 

Then  David  tried  to  size  the  pulp  for  the  desired  paper,  and 
the  result  was  a  harsh  surface  with  grains  of  size  distributed  all 
over  it.  On  the  day  when  the  experiment  was  concluded  and 
David  held  the  sheets  in  his  hand,  he  went  away  to  find  a  spot 
where  he  could  be  alone  and  swallow  his  bitter  disappoint- 
ment. But  Boniface  Cointet  went  in  search  of  him  and  com- 
forted him.  Boniface  was  delightfully  amiable. 

"Do  not  lose  heart,"  he  said;  "go  on  !  I  am  a  good 
fellow,  I  understand  you ;  I  will  stand  by  you  to  the  end." 

"  Really,"  David  said  to  his  wife  at  dinner,  "  we  are  with 
good  people ;  I  should  not  have  expected  that  the  tall  Cointet 
would  be  so  generous."  And  he  repeated  his  conversation 
with  his  wily  partner. 

Three  months  were  spent  in  experiments.  David  slept  at 
the  mill ;  he  noted  the  effects  of  various  preparations  upon 
the  pulp.  At  one  time  he  attributed  his  non-success  to  an 
admixture  of  rag-pulp  with  his  own  ingredients,  and  made  a 
batch  entirely  composed  of  the  new  material ;  at  another,  he 
endeavored  to  size  pulp  made  exclusively  from  rags ;  perse- 
vering in  his  experiments  under  the  eyes  of  the  tall  Cointet, 
whom  he  had  ceased  to  mistrust,  until  he  had  tried  every 
possible  combination  of  pulp  and  size.  David  lived  in  the 
paper-mill  for  the  first  six  months  of  1823 — if  it  can  be  called 
living  to  leave  food  untasted  and  go  in  neglect  of  person 
and  dress.  He  wrestled  so  desperately  with  the  difficulties 
that  anybody  but  the  Cointets  would  have  seen  the  sublimity 
of  the  struggle,  for  the  brave  fellow  was  not  thinking  of  his 
own  interests.  The  moment  had  come  when  he  cared  for 
nothing  but  the  victory.  With  marvelous  sagacity  he  watched 
the  unaccountable  freaks  of  the  semi-artificial  substances  called 
into  existence  by  man  for  ends  of  his  own ;  substances  in 
which  nature  had  been  tamed,  as  it  were,  and  her  tacit  resist- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  371 

ance  overcome ;  and  from  these  observations  drew  great  con- 
clusions ;  finding,  as  he  did,  that  such  creations  can  only  be 
obtained  by  following  the  laws  of  the  more  remote  affinities 
of  things,  of  "  a  second  nature,"  as  he  called  it,  in  substances. 

Toward  the  end  of  August  he  succeeded  to  some  extent  in 
sizing  the  paper  pulp  in  the  vat ;  the  result  being  a  kind  of 
paper  identical  with  a  make  in  use  for  printers'  proofs  at  the 
present  day — a  kind  of  paper  that  cannot  be  depended  upon, 
for  the  sizing  itself  is  not  always  certain.  This  was  a  great 
result,  considering  the  condition  of  the  paper-trade  in  1823, 
and  David  hoped  to  solve  the  final  difficulties  of  the  problem, 
but — it  had  cost  ten  thousand  francs. 

Singular  rumors  were  current  at  this  time  in  Angouleme 
and  L'Houmeau.  It  was  said  that  David  Sechard  was  ruining 
the  firm  of  Cointet  Brothers.  Experiments  had  eaten  up 
twenty  thousand  francs ;  and  the  result,  said  gossip,  was 
wretchedly  bad  paper.  Other  manufacturers  took  fright  at 
this,  hugged  themselves  on  their  old-fashioned  methods,  and, 
being  jealous  of  the  Cointets,  spread  rumors  of  the  approaching 
fall  of  that  ambitious  house.  As  for  the  tall  Cointet,  he  set 
up  the  new  machinery  for  making  lengths  of  paper  in  a  rib- 
bon, and  allowed  people  to  believe  that  he  was  buying  plant 
for  David's  experiments.  Then  the  cunning  Cointet  used 
David's  formula  for  pulp,  while  urging  his  partner  to  give  his 
whole  attention  to  the  sizing  process ;  and  thousands  of  reams 
of  the  new  paper  were  dispatched  to  Metivier  in  Paris. 

When  September  arrived  the  tall  Cointet  took  David  aside, 
and,  learning  that  the  latter  meditated  a  crowning  experi- 
ment, dissuaded  him  from  further  attempts. 

"  Go  to  Marsac,  my  dear  David,  see  your  wife,  and  take  a 
rest  after  your  labors;  we  don't  want  to  ruin  ourselves,"  said 
Cointet  in  the  friendliest  way.  "  This  great  triumph  of 
yours,  after  all,  is  only  a  starting-point.  We  shall  wait  now 
for  a  while  before  trying  any  new  experiments.  To  be  fair  ! 
see  what  has  come  of  them.  We  are  not  merely  paper-makers, 


372  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

we  are  printers  beside  and  bankers,  and  people  say  that  you 
are  ruining  us." 

David  Sechard's  gesture  of  protest  on  behalf  of  his  good 
faith  was  sublime  in  its  simplicity. 

"  Not  that  fifty  thousand  francs  thrown  into  the  Charente 
would  ruin  us,"  said  Cointet,  in  reply  to  the  mute  protest, 
"  but  we  do  not  wish  to  be  obliged  to  pay  cash  for  everything 
in  consequence  of  slanders  that  shake  our  credit ;  that  would 
bring  us  to  a  standstill.  We  have  reached  the  term  fixed  by 
our  agreement,  and  we  are  bound  on  either  side  to  think  over 
our  position." 

"He  is  right,"  thought  David.  He  had  forgotten  the 
routine  work  of  the  business,  thoroughly  absorbed  as  he  had 
been  in  experiments  on  a  large  scale. 

David  went  to  Marsac.  For  the  past  six  months  he  had 
gone  over  on  Saturday  evening,  returning  again  to  L'Houmeau 
on  Tuesday  morning.  Eve,  after  much  counsel  from  her 
father-in-law,  had  bought  a  house  called  the  Verberie,  with 
three  acres  of  land  and  a  croft  planted  with  vines,  which  lay 
like  a  wedge  in  the  old  man's  vineyard..  Here,  with  her 
mother  and  Marion,  she  lived  a  very  frugal  life,  for  five  thou- 
sand francs  of  the  purchase-money  still  remained  unpaid.  It 
was  a  charming  little  domain,  the  prettiest  bit  of  property  in 
Marsac.  The  house,  with  a  garden  before  it  and  a  yard  at 
the  back,  was  built  of  white  tufa  ornamented  with  carvings, 
cut  without  great  expense  in  that  easily  wrought  stone,  and 
roofed  with  slate.  The  pretty  furniture  from  the  house  in 
Angouleme  looked  prettier  still  at  Marsac,  for  there  was  not 
the  slightest  attempt  at  comfort  or  luxury  in  the  country  in 
those  days.  A  row  of  orange-trees,  pomegranates,  and  rare 
plants  stood  before  the  house  on  the  side  of  the  garden,  set 
there  by  the  last  owner,  an  old  general  who  died  under  M. 
Marron's  hands. 

David  was  enjoying  his  holiday  sitting  under  an  orange 
tree  with  his  wife,  and  father,  and  little  Lucien,  when  the 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  373 

bailiff  from  Mansle  appeared.  Cointet  Brothers  gave  their 
partner  formal  notice  to  appoint  an  arbitrator  to  settle  dis- 
putes, in  accordance  with  a  clause  in  the  agreement.  The 
Cointets  demanded  that  the  six  thousand  francs  should  be 
refunded,  and  the  patent  surrendered  in  consideration  of  the 
enormous  outlay  made  to  no  purpose. 

"  People  say  that  you  are  ruining  them,"  said  old  Sechard. 
"  Well,  well,  of  all  that  you  have  done,  that  is  the  one  thing 
that  I  am  glad  to  know." 

At  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning  Eve  and  David  stood  in 
Petit-Claud's  waiting-room.  The  little  lawyer  was  the  guar- 
dian of  the  widow  and  orphan  by  virtue  of  his  office,  and  it 
seemed  to  them  that  they  could  take  no  other  advice.  Petit- 
Claud  was  delighted  to  see  his  clients,  and  insisted  that  M. 
and  Mme.  Sechard  should  do  him  the  pleasure  of  breakfasting 
with  him. 

"  Do  the  Cointets  want  six  thousand  francs  of  you?"  he 
asked,  smiling.  "  How  much  is  still  owing  of  the  purchase- 
money  of  the  Verberie  ?  " 

"  Five  thousand  francs,  monsieur,"  said  Eve,  "but  I  have 
two  thousand " 

"  Keep  your  money,"  Petit-Claud  broke  in.  "  Let  us  see, 
five  thousand — why,  you  want  quite  another  ten  thousand 
francs  to  settle  yourselves  comfortably  in  down  yonder.  Very 
good,  in  two  hours'  time  the  Cointets  shall  bring  you  fifteen 
thousand  francs " 

Eve  started  with  surprise. 

"  If  you  will  renounce  all  claims  to  the  profits  under  the 
deed  of  partnership  and  come  to  an  amicable  settlement," 
said  Petit-Claud.  u  Does  that  suit  you  ?  " 

"Will  it  really  be  lawfully  ours?"  asked  Eve. 

"  Very  much  so,"  said  the  lawyer,  smiling.  "  The  Cointets 
have  worked  you  trouble  enough ;  I  should  like  to  make  an 
end  of  their  pretensions.  Listen  to  me ;  I  am  a  magistrate 
now  and  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  the  truth.  Very  good. 


374  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

The  Cointets  are  playing  you  false  at  this  moment,  but  you 
are  in  their  hands.  If  you  accept  battle  you  might  possibly 
gain  the  lawsuit  which  they  will  bring.  Do  you  wish  to  be 
where  you  are  now  after  ten  years  of  litigation  ?  Experts' 
fees  and  expenses  of  arbitration  will  be  multiplied,  the  most 
contradictory  opinions  will  be  given,  and  you  must  take  your 
chance.  And,"  he  added,  smiling  again,  "there  is  no  at- 
torney here  that  can  defend  you,  so  far  as  I  see.  My  suc- 
cessor has  not  much  ability.  There,  a  bad  compromise  is 
better  than  a  successful  lawsuit." 

"Any  arrangement  that  will  give  us  a  quiet  life  will  do  for 
me,"  said  David. 

Petit-Claud  called  to  his  servant. 

"  Paul !  go  and  ask  Monsieur  Segaud,  my  successor,  to 
come  here.  He  shall  go  to  see  the  Cointets  while  we  break- 
fast," said  Petit-Claud,  addressing  his  former  clients,  "and 
in  a  few  hours'  time  you  will  be  on  your  way  home  to  Marsac, 
ruined,  but  with  minds  at  rest.  Ten  thousand  francs  will 
bring  you  in  another  five  hundred  francs  of  income,  and  you 
will  live  comfortably  on  your  bit  of  property." 

Two  hours  later,  as  Petit-Claud  had  prophesied,  Maitre 
Segaud  came  back  with  an  agreement  duly  drawn  up  and 
signed  by  the  Cointets,  and  fifteen  notes  each  for  a  thousand 
francs. 

"We  are  much  indebted  to  you,"  said  Sechard,  turning  to 
Petit-Claud. 

"Why,  I  have  just  this  moment  ruined  you,"  said  Petit- 
Claud,  looking  at  his  astonished  former  clients.  "I  tell  you 
again,  I  have  ruined  you,  as  you  will  see  as  time  goes  on ; 
but  I  know  you,  you  would  rather  be  ruined  than  wait  for  a 
fortune  which  perhaps  might  come  too  late." 

"We  are  not  mercenary,  monsieur,"  said  Madame  Eve. 
"We  thank  you  for  giving  us  the  means  of  happiness \  we 
shall  always  feel  grateful  to  you." 

"  Great  heavens  !  don't  call  down  blessings  on  me  /"  cried 


LOST  ILLUSIONS.  375 

Petit-Claud.  "  It  fills  me  with  remorse ;  but  to-day,  I  think, 
I  have  made  full  reparation.  If  I  am  a  magistrate,  it  is  en- 
tirely owing  to  you;  and  if  anybody  is  to  feel  at  all  grate- 
ful, it  is  I.  Good-by." 

As  time  went  on,  Kolb  changed  his  opinion  of  Sdchard 
senior ;  and,  as  for  the  old  man,  he  took  a  liking  to  Kolb 
when  he  found  that,  like  himself,  the  Alsacien  could  neither 
write  nor  read  a  word,  and  that  it  was  easy  to  make  him  tipsy. 
The  old  "bear"  imparted  his  ideas  on  vine-culture  and  the 
sale  of  a  vintage  to  the  ex-cuirassier,  and  trained  him  with  a 
view  to  leaving  a  man  with  a  head  on  his  shoulders  to  look 
after  his  children  when  he  should  be  gone  ;  for  he  grew  child- 
ish at  the  last,  and  great  were  his  fears  as  to  the  fate  of  his 
property.  He  had  chosen  Courtois  the  miller  as  his  confi- 
dant. "  You  will  see  how  things  will  go  with  my  children 
when  I  am  underground.  Lord  !  it  makes  me  shudder  to 
think  of  it." 

Old  Sdchard  died  in  the  month  of  March,  1829,  leaving 
about  two  hundred  thousand  francs  in  land.  His  acres  added 
to  the  Verberie  made  a  fine  property,  which  Kolb  had  man- 
aged to  admiration  for  some  two  years. 

David  and  his  wife  found  nearly  a  hundred  thousand  crowns 
in  gold  in  the  house.  The  department  of  the  Charente  had 
valued  old  Sechard's  money  at  a  million  ;  rumor,  as  usual, 
exaggerating  the  amount  of  a  hoard.  Eve  and  David  had 
barely  thirty  thousand  francs  of  income  when  they  added 
their  little  fortune  to  the  inheritance ;  they  waited  a  while, 
and  so  it  fell  out  that  they  invested  their  capital  in  govern- 
ment securities  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution  of  July. 

Then,  and  not  until  then,  could  the  department  of  the 
Charente  and  David  S6chard  form  some  idea  of  the  wealth 
of  the  tall  Cointet.  Rich  to  the  extent  of  several  millions 
of  francs,  the  elder  Cointet  became  a  deputy,  and  is  at  this 
day  a  peer  of  France.  It  is  said  that  he  will  be  minister  of 


376  LOST  ILLUSIONS. 

commerce  in  the  next  government ;  for  in  1842  he  married 
Mile.  Popinot,  daughter  of  M.  Anselme  Popinot,  one  of  the 
most  influential  statesmen  of  the  dynasty,  deputy  and  mayor 
of  an  arrondissement  in  Paris. 

David  Sechard's  discovery  has  been  assimilated  by  the 
French  manufacturing  world,  as  food  is  assimilated  by  a  living 
body.  Thanks  to  the  introduction  of  materials  other  than 
rags,  France  can  produce  paper  more  cheaply  than  any  other 
European  country.  Dutch  paper,  as  David  foresaw,  no  longer 
exists.  Sooner  or  later  it  will  be  necessary,  no  doubt,  to 
establish  a  royal  paper  manufactory ;  like  the  Gobelins,  the 
Sevres  porcelain  works,  the  Savonnerie  (soap  works),  and  the 
imprimerie  royale  (royal  printing-house),  which  so  far  have 
escaped  the  destruction  threatened  by  bourgeois  vandalism. 

David  Sechard,  beloved  by  his  wife,  father  of  two  boys 
and  a  girl,  has  the  good  taste  to  make  no  allusion  to  his  past 
efforts.  Eve  had  the  sense  to  dissuade  him  from  following 
his  terrible  vocation  ;  for  the  inventor,  like  Moses  on  Mount 
Horeb,  is  consumed  by  the  burning  bush.  He  cultivates  lit- 
erature by  way  of  recreation,  and  leads  a  comfortable  life  of 
leisure,  befitting  the  landowner  who  lives  on  his  own  estate. 
He  has  bidden  farewell  for  ever  to  glory  and  has  bravely  taken 
his  place  in  the  class  of  dreamers  and  collectors ;  for  he  dab- 
bles in  entomology,  and  is  at  present  investigating  the  trans- 
formations of  insects  which  science  only  knows  in  the  final 
stage. 

Everybody  has  heard  of  Petit-Claud's  success  as  attorney- 
general  ;  he  is  the  rival  of  the  great  Vinet  of  Provins,  and  it 
is  his  ambition  to  be  president  of  the  Court-Royal  of  Poi- 
tiers. 

C6rizet  has  been  in  trouble  so  frequently  for  political  of- 
fenses that  he  has  been  a  good  deal  talked  about ;  and  as  one 
of  the  boldest  cnfants  perdus  (lost  children)  of  the  Liberal 
party  he  was  nicknamed  the  "Brave  Cerizet."  When  Petit- 
Claud's  successor  compelled  him  to  sell  his  business  in  An- 


LOST  ILLUSIONS. 


377 


gouldme,  he  found  a  fresh  career  'on  the  provincial  stage, 
where  his  talents  as  an  actor  were  like  to  be  turned  to  brilliant 
account.  The  chief  stage  heroine,  however,  obliged  him  to 
go  to  Paris  to  find  a  cure  for  love  among  the  resources  of 
science,  and  there  he  tried  to  curry  favor  with  the  Liberal 
party. 

As  for  Lucien,  the  story  of  his  return  to  Paris  belongs  to 
the  "  Scenes  of  Parisian  Life." 


GAUDISSART  II. 

To  Madame  la  Princesse  Cristina  de  Belgiojoso,  nee 
Trivulzio. 

To  know  how  to  sell,  to  be  able  to  sell,  and  to  sell.  People 
generally  do  not  suspect  how  much  of  the  stateliness  of  Paris 
is  due  to  these  three  aspects  of  the  same  problem.  The  bril- 
liant display  of  stores  as  rich  as  the  salons  of  the  noblesse 
before  1 789 ;  the  splendors  of  cafes  which  eclipse,  and  easily 
eclipse,  the  Versailles  of  our  day  ;  the  store-window  illusions, 
new  every  morning,  nightly  destroyed;  the  grace  and  ele- 
gance of  the  young  men  that  come  in  contact  with  fair  cus- 
tomers ;  the  piquant  faces  and  costumes  of  young  damsels, 
who  cannot  fail  to  attract  the  masculine  customer ;  and  (and 
this  especially  of  late)  the  length,  the  vast  spaces,  the  Baby- 
lonish luxury  of  galleries  where  storekeepers  acquire  a  mo- 
nopoly of  the  trade  in  various  articles  by  bringing  them  all 
together — all  this  is  as  nothing.  Everything,  so  far,  has  been 
done  to  appeal  to  a  single  sense,  and  that  the  most  exacting 
and  jaded  human  faculty,  a  faculty  developed  ever  since  the 
days  of  the  Roman  Empire,  until,  in  our  own  times,  thanks  to 
the  efforts  of  the  most  fastidious  civilization  the  world  has  yet 
seen,  its  demands  are  grown  limitless.  That  faculty  resides 
in  the  "eyes  of  Paris." 

Those  eyes  require  illuminations  costing  a  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,  and  many-colored  glass  palaces  a  couple  of  miles 
long  and  sixty  feet  high ;  they  must  have  a  fairyland  at  some 
fourteen  theatres  every  night,  and  a  succession  of  panoramas 
and  exhibition  of  the  triumphs  of  art;  for  them  a  whole 
world  of  suffering  and  pain,  and  a  universe  of  joy,  must  re- 
volve through  the  boulevards  or  stray  through  the  streets  of 
(378) 


GAUDISSART  II.  379 

Paris ;  for  them  encyclopaedias  of  carnival  frippery  and  a 
score  of  illustrated  books  are  brought  out  every  year,  to  say 
nothing  of  caricatures  by  the  hundred,  and  vignettes,  litho- 
graphs, and  prints  by  the  thousand.  To  please  those  eyes, 
fifteen  thousand  francs'  worth  of  gas  must  blaze  every  night ; 
and,  to  conclude,  for  their  delectation  the  great  city  yearly 
spends  several  millions  of  francs  in  opening  up  views  and 
planting  trees.  And  even  yet  this  is  as  nothing — it  is  only 
the  material  side  of  the  question  ;  in  truth,  a  mere  trifle  com- 
pared with  the  expenditure  of  brain  power  on  the  shifts, 
worthy  of  Moliere,  invented  by  some  sixty  thousand  assistants 
and  forty  thousand  damsels  of  the  counter,  who  fasten  upon 
the  customer's  purse,  much  as  myraids  of  Seine  minnows 
fall  upon  a  chance  crust  floating  down  the  river. 

Gaudissart  in  the  mart  is  at  least  the  equal  of  his  illustrious 
namesake,  now  become  the  typical  commercial  traveler. 
Take  him  away  from  his  store  and  his  line  of  business,  he  is 
like  a  collapsed  balloon  ;  only  among  his  bales  of  merchan- 
dise do  his  faculties  return,  much  as  an  actor  is  sublime  only 
upon  the  boards.  A  French  store-clerk  is  better  educated 
than  his  fellows  in  other  European  countries ;  he  can  at  need 
talk  asphalt,  Bal  Mabille,  polkas,  literature,  illustrated  books, 
railways,  politics,  parliament,  and  revolution  ;  transplant  him, 
take  away  his  stage,  his  yard -stick,  his  artificial  graces,  he  is 
foolish  beyond  belief;  but  on  his  own  boards,  on  the  tight- 
rope of  the  counter,  as  he  displays  a  shawl  with  a  speech  at  his 
tongue's  end,  and  his  eye  on  his  customer,  he  puts  the  great 
Talleyrand  into  the  shade ;  he  has  more  wit  than  a  D£saugiers, 
more  wiles  than  Cleopatra ;  he  is  a  match  for  a  Monrose  and 
a  Moliere  to  boot.  Talleyrand  in  his  own  house  would  have 
outwitted  Gaudissart,  but  in  the  store  the  parts  would  have 
been  reversed. 

An  incident  will  illustrate  the  paradox  : 

Two  charming  duchesses  were  chatting  with  the  above- 
mentioned  great  diplomatist.  The  ladies  wished  for  a  brace- 


380  GAUDISSART  IL 

let ;  they  were  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  a  man  from  a  great 
Parisian  jeweler.  A  Gaudissart  accordingly  appeared  with  three 
bracelets  of  marvelous  workmanship.  The  great  ladies  hesi- 
tated. Choice  is  a  mental  lightning  flash  ;  hesitate — there  is 
no  more  to  be  said,  you  are  at  fault.  Inspiration  in  matters 
of  taste  will  not  come  twice.  At  last,  after  about  ten  minutes, 
the  Prince  was  called  in.  He  saw  the  two  duchesses  con- 
fronting doubt  with  its  thousand  facets,  unable  to  decide 
between  the  transcendent  merits  of  two  of  the  trinkets,  for 
the  third  had  been  set  aside  at  once.  Without  leaving  his 
book,  without  a  glance  at  the  bracelets,  the  Prince  looked  at 
the  jeweler's  assistant. 

"Which  would  you  choose  for  your  sweetheart?"  asked 
he. 

The  young  man  indicated  one  of  the  pair. 

"  In  that  case,  take  the  other,  you  will  make  two  women 
happy,"  said  the  subtlest  of  modern  diplomatists,  "  and 
make  your  sweetheart  happy  too,  in  my  name." 

The  two  fair  ladies  smiled,  and  the  young  clerk  took  his 
departure,  delighted  with  the  Prince's  present  and  the  implied 
compliment  to  his  taste. 

A  woman  alights  from  her  splendid  carriage  before  one  of 
the  expensive  stores  where  shawls  are  sold  in  the  Rue  Vivienne. 
She  is  not  alone ;  women  almost  always  go  in  pairs  on  these 
expeditions ;  always  make  the  round  of  half  a  score  of  stores 
before  they  make  up  their  minds,  and  laugh  together  in  the 
intervals  over  the  little  comedies  played  for  their  benefit. 
Let  us  see  which  of  the  two  acts  most  in  character — the  fair 
customer  or  the  seller,  and  which  has  the  best  of  it  in  such 
miniature  vaudevilles  ? 

If  you  attempt  to  describe  a  sale,  the  central  fact  of  Parisian 
trade,  you  are  in  duty  bound,  if  you  attempt  to  give  the  gist 
of  the  matter,  to  produce  a  type,  and  for  this  purpose  a  shawl 
or  a  chatelaine  costing  some  three  thousand  francs  is  a  more 
exciting  purchase  than  a  length  of  lawn  or  dress  that  costs 
three  hundred.  But  know,  oh  foreign  visitor  from  the  Old 


GAUDISSART  II.  381 

World  and  the  New  (if  ever  this  study  of  the  physiology  of 
the  Invoice  should  be  by  you  perused),  that  this  selfsame 
comedy  is  played  in  haberdashers'  stores  over  a  barege  at  two 
francs  or  a  printed  muslin  at  four  francs  the  yard. 

And  you,  princess  or  simple  citizen's  wife,  whichever  you 
may  be,  how  should  you  distrust  that  good-looking,  very 
young  man,  with  those  frank,  innocent  eyes  and  a  cheek  like 
a  peach  covered  with  down  ?  He  is  dressed  almost  as  well  as 
your — cousin,  let  us  say.  His  tones  are  as  soft  as  the  woolen 
stuffs  which  he  spreads  before  you.  There  are  three  or  four 
more  of  his  like.  One  has  dark  eyes,  a  decided  expression, 
and  an  imperial  manner  of  saying,  "  This  is  what  you  wish  ;  " 
another,  that  blue-eyed  youth,  diffident  of  manner  and  meek 
of  speech,  prompts  the  remark,  "  Poor  boy  !  he  was  not  born 
for  business;  "  a  third,  with  light  auburn  hair  and  laughing, 
tawny  eyes,  has  all  the  lively  humor,  and  activity,  and  gaiety 
of  the  South  ;  while  the  fourth,  he  of  the  tawny  red  hair  and 
fan-shaped  beard,  is  rough  as  a  communist,  with  his  por- 
tentous cravat,  his  sternness,  his  dignity,  and  his  curt  speech. 

These  varieties  of  clerks,  corresponding  to  the  principal 
types  of  feminine  customers,  are  arms,  as  it  were,  directed  by 
the  head,  a  stout  personage  with  a  full-blown  countenance,  a 
partially  bald  forehead,  and  a  chest  measure  befitting  a  Minis- 
terialist deputy.  Occasionally  this  person  wears  the  ribbon 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor  in  recognition  of  the  manner  in  which 
he  supports  the  dignity  of  the  French  dry  goods  dealer's  wand. 
From  the  comfortable  curves  of  his  figure  you  can  see  that  he 
has  a  wife  and  family,  a  country  house,  and  an  account  with 
the  Bank  of  France.  He  descends  like  an  automatic  demon 
whenever  a  tangled  problem  demands  a  swift  solution.  The 
feminine  purchasers  are  surrounded  on  all  sides  with  urbanity, 
youth,  pleasant  manners,  smiles,  and  jests  ;  the  most  seeming- 
simple  human  products  of  civilization  are  here,  all  sorted  in 
shades  to  suit  all  tastes. 

Just  one  word  as  to  the  natural  effects  of  architecture, 
optical  science,  and  house  decoration ;  one  short,  decisive, 


382  GAUDISSART  II. 

terrible  word,  of  history  made  on  the  spot.  The  work  which 
contains  this  instructive  page  is  sold  at  number  76  Rue  de 
Richelieu,  where,  above  an  elegant  store,  all  white  and  gold 
and  crimson  velvet,  there  is  an  entre-sol  (a  room  between 
the  first  and  second  floors),  into  which  the  light  pours  straight 
from  the  Rue  de  Menars,  as  into  a  painter's  studio — clean, 
clear,  even  daylight.  What  idler  in  the  streets  has  not  beheld 
the  Persian,  that  Asiatic  potentate,  ruffling  it  above  the  door 
at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  la  Bourse  and  the  Rue  de  Rich- 
elieu, with  a  message  to  deliver  urbi et  orbi,  "Here  I  reign 
more  tranquilly  than  at  Lahore  ?  ' '  Perhaps,  but  for  this  im- 
mortal analytical  study,  archaeologists  might  begin  to  puzzle 
their  heads  about  him  five  hundred  years  hence,  and  set  about 
writing  quartos  with  platesr  (like  M.  Quatremere's  work  on 
Olympian  Jove)  to  prove  that  Napoleon  was  something  of  a 
Sofi  in  the  East  before  he  became  "  Emperor  of  the  French." 
Well,  the  wealthy  store  laid  siege  to  the  poor  little  entre-sol ; 
and,  after  a  bombardment  with  bank-notes,  entered  and  took 
possession.  The  Human  Comedy  gave  way  before  the  comedy 
of  cashmeres.  The  Persian  sacrificed  a  diamond  or  two  from 
his  crown  to  buy  that  so  necessary  daylight ;  for  a  ray  of  sun- 
light shows  the  play  of  the  colors,  brings  out  the  charms  of 
a  shawl  and  doubles  its  value ;  'tis  an  irresistible  light ;  literally, 
a  golden  ray.  From  this  fact  you  may  judge  how  far  Paris 
stores  are  arranged  with  a  view  to  effect. 

But  to  return  to  the  young  assistants,  to  the  beribboned 
man  of  forty  whom  the  King  of  the  French  receives  at  his 
table,  to  the  red-bearded  head  of  the  department  with  his 
autocrat's  air.  Week  by  week  these  emeritus  Gaudissarts  are 
brought  in  contact  with  whims  past  counting ;  they  know 
every  vibration  of  the  cashmere  chord  in  the  heart  of  woman. 
No  one — be  she  lady  or  lorette,  a  young  mother  of  a  family, 
a  respectable  tradesman's  wife,  a  woman  of  easy  virtue,  a 
duchess  or  a  brazen-fronted  ballet-dancer,  an  innocent  young 
girl  or  a  too  innocent  foreigner — can  appear  in  the  store  but 


GAUDISSART  II.  383 

she  is  watched  from  the  moment  when  she  first  lays  her  fingers 
upon  the  door-handle.  Her  measure  is  taken  at  a  glance  by 
seven  or  eight  men  that  stand,  in  the  windows,  at  the  counter, 
by  the  door,  in  a  corner,  or  in  the  middle  of  the  store,  medi- 
tating, to  all  appearance,  on  the  joys  of  a  bacchanalian  Sun- 
day holiday.  As  you  look  at  them,  you  ask  yourself  involun- 
tarily, "What  can  they  be  thinking  about?"  Well,  in  the 
space  of  one  second,  a  woman's  purse,  wishes,  intentions,  and 
whims  are  ransacked  more  thoroughly  than  a  traveling  car- 
riage at  a  frontier  in  an  hour  and  three-quarters.  Nothing  is 
lost  on  these  intelligent  rogues.  As  they  stand,  solemn  as 
noble  fathers  on  the  stage,  they  take  in  all  the  details  of  a 
fair  customer's  dress ;  an  invisible  speck  of  mud  on  a  little 
shoe,  an  antiquated  hat-brim,  soiled  or  ill-judged  bonnet- 
strings,  the  fashion  of  the  dress,  the  age  of  a  pair  of  gloves. 
They  can  tell  whether  the  gown  was  cut  by  the  intelligent 
scissors  of  a  Victorine  IV.;  they  know  a  modish  gewgaw  or 
a  trinket  from  Froment-Meurice.  Nothing,  in  short,  which 
can  reveal  a  woman's  quality,  fortune,  or  character  passes  un- 
remarked. 

Tremble  before  them.  Never  was  the  Sanhedrin  of  Gau- 
dissarts,  with  their  chief  at  their  head,  known  to  make  a  mis- 
take. And,  moreover,  they  communicate  their  conclusions 
to  one  another  with  telegraphic  speed,  in  a  glance,  a  smile, 
the  movement  of  a  muscle,  a  twitch  of  the  lip.  If  you  watch 
them,  you  are  reminded  of  the  sudden  outbreak  of  light  along 
the  Champs  Elys6es  at  dusk ;  one  gas-jet  does  not  succeed 
another  more  swiftly  than  an  idea  flashes  from  one  clerk's 
eyes  to  the  next. 

At  once,  if  the  lady  is  English,  the  dark,  mysterious,  por- 
tentous Gaudissart  advances  like  a  romantic  character  out  of 
one  of  Byron's  poems. 

If  she  is  a  city  madame,  the  oldest  is  put  forward.  He 
brings  out  a  hundred  shawls  in  fifteen  minutes;  he  turns  her 
head  with  colors  and  patterns ;  every  shawl  that  he  shows  her 


384  GAUDISSART  II. 

is  like  a  circle  described  by  a  kite  wheeling  round  a  hapless 
rabbit,  till,  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  when  her  head  is  swim- 
ming and  she  is  utterly  incapable  of  making  a  decision  for  her- 
self, the  good  lady,  meeting  with  a  flattering  response  to  all 
her  ideas,  refers  the  question  to  the  assistant,  who  promptly 
leaves  her  on  the  horns  of  a  dilemma  between  two  equally 
irresistible  shawls. 

"  This,  madame,  is  very  becoming — apple-green,  the  color 
of  the  season  ;  still,  fashions  change  ;  while  as  for  this  other 
black-and-white  shawl  (an  opportunity  not  to  be  missed),  you 
will  never  see  the  end  of  it,  and  it  will  go  with  any  dress." 

This  is  the  A  B  C  of  the  trade. 

"You  would  not  believe  how  much  eloquence  is  wanted 
in  that  beastly  line,"  the  head  Gaudissart  of  this  particular 
establishment  remarked  quite  lately  to  two  acquaintances 
(Duronceret  and  Bixiou)  who  had  come  trusting  in  his  judg- 
ment to  buy  a  shawl.  "  Look  here;  you  are  artists  and  dis- 
creet, I  can  tell  you  about  the  governor's  tricks,  and  of  all 
the  men  I  ever  saw  he  is  the  cleverest.  I  do  not  mean  as  a 
manufacturer,  there  Monsieur  Fritot  is  first ;  but  as  a  sales- 
man. He  discovered  the  '  Selim  shawl,'  an  absolutely  unsal- 
able article,  yet  we  never  bring  it  out  but  we  sell  it.  We 
always  keep  a  shawl  worth  five  or  six  hundred  francs  in  a 
cedar-wood  box,  perfectly  plain  outside,  but  lined  with  satin. 
It  is  one  of  the  shawls  that  Selim  sent  to  the  Emperor  Napo- 
leon. It  is  our  Imperial  Guard  ;  it  is  brought  to  the  front 
whenever  the  day  is  almost  lost ;  il  se  vend  et  ne  meurl  pas — 
it  sells  its  life  dearly  time  after  time." 

As  he  -spoke,  an  Englishwoman  stepped  from  her  jobbed 
carriage  and  appeared  in  all  the  glory  of  that  phlegmatic 
humor  peculiar  to  Britain  and  to  all  its  products  which  make 
believe  they  are  alive.  The  apparition  put  you  in  mind  of 
the  Commandant's  statue  in  "Don  Juan,"  it  walked  along, 
jerkily  by  fits  and  starts,  in  an  awkward  fashion  invented  in 
London,  and  cultivated  in  every  family  with  patriotic  care. 


GAUDISSART  II.  385 

"An  Englishwoman!"  he  continued  for  Bixiou's  ear. 
"  An  Englishwoman  is  our  Waterloo.  There  are  women  who 
slip  through  our  fingers  like  eels  ;  we  catch  them  on  the  stair- 
case. There  are  lorettes  who  chaff  us,  we  join  in  the  laugh, 
we  have  a  hold  on  them  because  we  give  credit.  There  are 
sphinx-like  foreign  ladies ;  we  take  a  quantity  of  shawls  to 
their  houses,  and  arrive  at  an  understanding  by  flattery ;  but 

an  Englishwoman  ! you  might  as  well  attack  the  bronze 

statue  of  Louis  Quatorze  !  That  sort  of  woman  turns  shop- 
ping into  an  occupation,  an  amusement.  She  quizzes  us,  for- 
sooth !  " 

The  romantic  assistant  came  to  the  front. 

"  Does  madame  wish  for  real  Indian  shawls  or  French,  some- 
thing expensive  or " 

"  I  will  see  "  (_/e  veraie). 

"  How  much  would  madame  propose " 

"I  will  see." 

The  shopman  went  in  quest  of  shawls  to  spread  upon  the 
mantle-stand,  giving  his  colleagues  a  significant  glance. 
"  What  a  bore  !  "  he  said  plainly,  with  an  almost  impercept- 
ible shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"These  are  our  best  quality  in  Indian  red,  blue,  and  pale 
orange — all  at  ten  thousand  francs.  Here  are  shawls  at  five 
thousand  francs,  and  others  at  three." 

The  Englishwoman  took  up  her  eyeglass  and  looked  round 
the  room  with  gloomy  indifference  ;  then  she  submitted  the 
three  stands  to  the  same  scrutiny,  and  made  no  sign. 

"  Have  you  any  more?  "  (Havaivotf  hdtc  f)  demanded  she. 

"Yes,  madame.  But  perhaps  madame  has  not  quite  de- 
cided to  take  a  shawl  ? ' ' 

"  Oh,  quite  decided  "  (trci-dcycidai}. 

The  young  man  went  in  search  of  cheaper  wares.  These 
he  spread  out  solemnly  as  if  they  were  things  of  price,  saying 
by  his  manner,  "  Pay  attention  to  all  this  magnificence  !  " 

"These  are  much  more  expensive,"  said  he.     "They  have 
25 


386  GAUDISSART  II. 

never  been  worn  ;  they  have  come  by  courier  direct  from  the 
manufacturers  at  Lahore." 

'•'Oh!  I  see,"  said  she;  "they  are  much  more  like  the 
thing  I  want." 

The  shopman  kept  his  countenance  in  spite  of  inward 
irritation,  which  communicated  itself  to  Duronceret  and 
Bixiou.  The  Englishwoman,  cool  as  a  cucumber,  appeared 
to  rejoice  in  her  phlegmatic  humor. 

"  What  price  ?  "  she  asked,  indicating  a  sky-blue  shawl  cov- 
ered with  a  pattern  of  birds  nestling  in  pagodas. 

"  Seven  thousand  francs." 

She  took  it  up,  wrapped  it  about  her  shoulders,  looked  in 
the  glass,  and  handed  it  back  again. 

"  No,  I  do  not  like  it  at  all  "  (Je  rfame  pouinte). 

A  long  quarter  of  an  hour  went  by  in  trying  on  other 
shawls  ;  to  no  purpose. 

"  This  is  all  we  have,  madame,"  said  the  assistant,  glancing 
at  the  master  as  he  spoke. 

"  Madame  is  fastidious,  like  all  persons  of  taste,"  said  the 
head  of  the  establishment,  coming  forward  with  that  trades- 
man's suavity  in  which  pomposity  is  agreeably  blended  with 
subservience.  The  Englishwoman  took  up  her  eyeglass  and 
scanned  the  manufacturer  from  head  to  foot,  unwilling  to 
understand  that  the  man  before  her  was  eligible  for  Parlia- 
ment and  dined  at  the  Tuileries. 

"I  have  only  one  shawl  left,"  he  continued,  "but  I  never 
show  it.  It  is  not  to  everybody's  taste ;  it  is  quite  out  of  the 
common.  I  was  thinking  this  morning  of  giving  it  to  my 
wife.  We  have  had  it  in  stock  since  1805  ;  it  belonged  to 
the  Empress  Josephine." 

"Let  me  see  it,  monsieur." 

"  Go  for  it,"  said  the  master,  turning  to  a  shopman.  "  Ic 
is  at  my  house." 

"  I  should  be  very  much  pleased  to  see  it,"  said  the  English 
lady. 


GAUDISSART  II.  387 

This  was  a  triumph.  The  splenetic  dame  was  apparently 
on  the  point  of  going.  She  made  as  though  she  saw  nothing 
but  the  shawls ;  but  all  the  while  she  furtively  watched  the 
clerk  and  the  two  customers,  sheltering  her  eyes  behind  the 
rims  of  her  eyeglasses. 

"It  cost  sixty  thousand  francs  in  Turkey,  madame." 

"Oh  I  "(*«*/) 

"  It  is  one  of  seven  shawls  which  Selim  sent,  before  his  fall, 
to  the  Emperor  Napoleon.  The  Empress  Josephine,  a  Creole, 
as  you  know,  my  lady,  and  very  capricious  in  her  tastes, 
exchanged  this  one  for  another  brought  by  the  Turkish  am- 
bassador, and  purchased  by  rny  predecessor ;  but  I  have  never 
seen  the  money  back.  Our  ladies  in  France  are  not  rich 
enough ;  it  is  not  as  it  is  in  England.  The  shawl  is  worth 
seven  thousand  francs  ;  and  taking  interest  and  compound 
interest  altogether,  it  makes  up  fourteen  or  fifteen  thousand 
by  now " 

"  How  does  it  make  up?"  asked  the  Englishwoman. 

"Here  it  is,  madame." 

With  precautions,  which  a  custodian  of  the  Dresden  Grune 
Gewolbe  might  have  admired,  he  took  out  an  infinitesimal 
key  and  opened  a  square  cedar-wood  box.  The  English- 
woman was  much  impressed  with  its  shape  and  plainness. 
From  that  box,  lined  with  black  satin,  he  drew  a  shawl  worth 
about  fifteen  hundred  francs,  a  black  pattern  on  a  golden- 
yellow  ground,  of  which  the  startling  color  was  only  surpassed 
by  the  surprising  efforts  of  the  Indian  imagination. 

"  Splendid,"  said  the  lady,  in  a  mixture  of  French  and 
English,  "  it  is  really  handsome.  Just  my  ideal  "  (ideal)  "  of 
a  shawl;  it  is  very  magnificent."  The  rest  was  lost  in  a 
madonna's  pose  assumed  for  the  purpose  of  displaying  a  pair 
of  frigid  eyes  which  she  believed  to  be  very  fine. 

"  It  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  Emperor  Napoleon ;  he 
took " 

"A  great  favorite,"  repeated  she  with  her  English  accent. 


38 S  GAUDISSART  II. 

Then  she  arranged  the  shawl  about  her  shoulders  and  looked 
at  herself  in  the  glass.  The  proprietor  took  it  to  the  light, 
gathered  it  up  in  his  hands,  smoothed  it  out,  showed  the  gloss 
on  it,  played  on  it  as  Liszt  plays  on  the  pianforte  keys. 
.  "  It  is  very  fine ;  beautiful,  sweet  1  "  said  the  lady,  as  com- 
posedly as  possible. 

Duronceret,  Bixiou,  and  the  shopmen  exchanged  amused 
glances.  "The  shawl  is  sold,"  they  thought. 

"  Well,  madame  ?  "  inquired  the  proprietor,  as  the  English- 
woman appeared  to  be  absorbed  in  meditations  infinitely  pro- 
longed. 

"  Decidedly,"  said  she ;  "  I  would  rather  have  a  carriage  " 
(une  vdtenre). 

All  the  assistants,  listening  with  silent  rapt  attention,  started 
as  one  man,  as  if  an  electric  shock  had  gone  through  them. 

"I  have  a  very  handsome  one,  madame,"  said  the  pro- 
prietor with  unshaken  composure ;  "  it  belonged  to  a  Russian 
princess,  the  Princess  Narzicof ;  she  left  it  with  me  in  pay- 
ment for  goods  received.  If  madame  would  like  to  see  it,  she 
would  be  astonished.  It  is  new ;  it  has  not  been  in  use  alto- 
gether for  ten  days  ;  there  is  not  its  like  in  Paris." 

The  clerks'  amazement  was  suppressed  by  profound  ad- 
miration. 

"  I  am  quite  willing." 

"If  madame  will  keep  the  shawl,"  suggested  the  propri- 
etor, "  she  can  try  the  effect  in  the  carriage."  And  he  went 
for  his  hat  and  gloves. 

"How  will  this  end?"  asked  the  head  assistant,  as  he 
watched  his  employer  offer  an  arm  to  the  English  lady  and  go 
down  with  her  to  the  jobbed  brougham. 

By  this  time  the  thing  had  come  to  be  as  exciting  as  the 
last  chapter  of  a  novel  for  Duronceret  and  Bixiou,  even  with- 
out the  additional  interest  attached  to  all  contests,  however 
trifling,  between  England  and  France. 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  proprietor  returned. 


GAUD2SSART  II.  389 

"  Go  to  the  Hotel  Lawson  (here  is  the  card,  '  Mrs.  Nos- 
well '),  and  take  an  invoice  that  I  will  give  you.  There  are 
six  thousand  francs  to  take. ' ' 

"  How  did  you  do  it?"  asked  Duronceret,  bowing  before 
the  king  of  invoices. 

"  Oh,  I  saw  what  she  was,  an  eccentric  woman  that  loves  to 
be  conspicuous.  As  soon  as  she  saw  that  every  one  stared  at 
her,  she  said,  '  Keep  your  carriage,  monsieur  ;  my  mind  is 
made  up,  I  will  take  the  shawl.'  While  he,  Bigorneau  (indi- 
cating the  romantic-looking  assistant),  was  serving,  I  watched 
her  carefully ;  she  kept  one  eye  on  you  all  the  time  to  see  what 
you  thought  of  her ;  she  was  thinking  more  about  you  than 
of  the  shawls.  Englishwomen  are  peculiar  in  their  distaste 
(for  one  cannot  call  it  taste)  ;  they  do  not  know  what  they 
want ;  they  make  up  their  minds  to  be  guided  by  circum- 
stances at  the  time,  and  not  by  their  own  choice.  I  saw 
the  kind  of  woman  at  once,  tired  of  her  husband,  tired  of  her 
brats,  regretfully  virtuous,  craving  excitement,  always  posing 
as  a  weeping  willow."  These  were  his  very  words. 

Which  proves  that  in  all  other  countries  of  the  world  a 
storekeeper  is  a  storekeeper  ;  while  in  France,  and  in  Paris 
more  particularly,  he  is  a  student  from  a  College  Royal,  a 
well-read  man  with  a  taste  for  art,  or  angling,  or  the  theatre, 
and  consumed,  it  may  be,  with  a  desire  to  be  M.  Cunin- 
Gridaine's  successor,  or  a  colonel  of  the  National  Guard,  or  a 
member  of  the  General  Council  of  the  Seine,  or  a  referee  in 
the  Commercial  Court. 

"  Monsieur  Adolphe,"  said  the  mistress  of  the  establish- 
ment, addressing  the  slight,  fair-haired  assistant,  "  go  to  the 
carpenter  and  order  another  cedar-wood  box." 

"And  now,"  remarked  the  shopman  who  had  assisted 
Duronceret  and  Bixiou  to  choose  a  shawl  for  Mme.  Schontz, 
"  nowvtz  will  go  through  our  old  stock  to  find  another  Selim 
shawl." 

PARIS,  November,  1844. 


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